The Secret Agent A Simple Tale

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THE SECRET AGENT

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

ALMAYER'S FOLLY

AN OUTCAST OF THE ISIANDS

TALES OK UNREST

THE NIGGER OF THE "NARCISSUS"

LORD JIM

YOUTH : A NARRATIVE

TYPHOON

NOSTROMO : A TALE OK THE SEABOARD

THE MIRROR OF THE SEA

UNDER WESTERN EYES

CHANCE

SOME REMINISCENCES

A SET OF Six

'TwixT LAND AND SEA

WITHIN THE TIDES

VICTORY

WITH FORD M. IIUEFFKR

THE INHERITORS: AN EXTRAVAGANT STORY
ROMANCE : A NOVEL

THE

SECRET AGENT

A SIMPLE TALE

BY

JOSEPH CONRAD

TENTH EDI i ION

METHUEN CO. T.TD.

36 ESSEX STREET \V. C.

LONDON

First Published (CruiuH <v?) . . September 11)07

Second Edition ..... October fQoj

Third Rgition November tQo?

Fourth and Fifth Editions . . . February iqij

Sixth Edition (Cheap Form) . . February ijth, iQi6

Seventh Edition (Cheap Form} . . July IQI&

Eighth Edition (Cheap Fomi) . . September fQlb

Ninth Edition (Cheap F2dition} . . September ry/Q
Tenth Edition (Crown Svo) . . . 79^0

TO
H. G. WELLS

THK CHRONICLER OF MR I.KWISH AM*S LOVF

ndi BIOC.RAl'HKR OK KIl'l'S AND Ttil.

HIs'lOkl\N 01 'I UK At'.KS '1C COME

'1HIS SIMPLE TALK OF THE XIX CKNU'KY
I-> AlKKClIONATIiLY OF1 KREl>

THE SECRET AGENT

i

TV/TR VERLOC, going out in the morning,
** left his shop nominally in charge of his
brother-in-law. It could be done, because there
was very little business at any time, and practi-
cally none at all before the evening. Mr Verloc
cared but little about his ostensible business.
And, moreover, his wife was in charge of his
brother-in-law.

The shop was small, and so was the house.
It was one of those grimy brick houses which
existed in large quantities before the era of
reconstruction dawned upon London. The
shop was a square box of a place, with the front
glazed in small panes. In the daytime the
door remained closed ; in the evening it stood
discreetly but suspiciously ajar.

The window contained photographs of more
or less undressed dancing girls ; nondescript
packages in wrappers like patent medicines ;
closed yellow paper envelopes, very flimsy, and
marked two-and-six in heavy black figures ; a

2 THE SECRET AGENT

few numbers of ancient French comic publica-
tions hung across a string as if to dry ; a dingy
blue china bowl, a casket of black wood, bottles
of marking ink, and rubber stamps ; a few books,
with titles hinting at impropriety ; a few appar-
ently old copies of obscure newspapers, badly
printed, with titles like The Torch, The Gong -
rousing titles. And the two gas jets inside
the panes were always turned low, either for
economy's sake or for the sake of the customers.

These customers were either very young
men, who hung about the window for a time
before slipping in suddenly ; or men of a more
mature age, but looking generally as if they
were not in funds. Some of that last kind had
the collars of their overcoats turned right up
to their moustaches, and traces of mud on
the bottom of their nether garments, which
had the appearance of being much worn
and not very valuable. And the legs inside
them did not, as a general rule, seem of much
account either. With their hands plunged
deep in the side pockets of their coats, they
dodged in sideways, one shoulder first, as if
afraid to start the bell going.

The bell, hung on the door by means of a
curved ribbon of steel, was difficult to circum-
vent. It was hopelessly cracked ; but of an

THE SECRET AGENT 8

evening, at the slightest provocation, it clattered
behind the customer with impudent virulence.

It clattered ; and at that signal, through the
dusty glass door behind the painted deal
counter, Mr Verloc would issue hastily from the
parlour at the back. His eyes were naturally
heavy ; he had an air of having wallowed, fully
dressed, all day on an unmade bed. Another
man would have felt such an appearance a distinct
disadvantage. In a commercial transaction of
the retail order much depends on the seller's
engaging and amiable aspect. But Mr Verloc
knew his business, and remained undisturbed by
any sort of aesthetic doubt about his appearance.
With a firm, steady-eyed impudence, which
seemed to hold back the threat of some abomin-
able menace, he would proceed to sell over the
counter some object looking obviously and
scandalously not worth the money which passed
in the transaction : a small cardboard box
with apparently nothing inside, for instance,
or one of those carefully closed yellow flimsy
envelopes, or a soiled volume in paper covers
with a promising title. Now and then it
happened that one of the faded, yellow dancing
girls would get sold to an amateur, as though
she had been alive and young.

Sometimes it was Mrs Verloc who would

4 THE SECRET AGENT

appear at the call of the cracked bell. Winnie
Verloc was a young woman with a full bust, in
a tight bodice, and with broad hips. Her hair
was very tidy. Steady-eyed like her husband,
she preserved an air of unfathomable indifference
behind the rampart of the counter. Then the
customer of comparatively tender years would
get suddenly disconcerted at having to deal
with a woman, and with rage in his heart would
proffer a request for a bottle of marking ink,
retail value sixpence (price in Verloc's shop one-
and-sixpence), which, once outside, he would
drop stealthily into the gutter.

The evening visitors the men with collars
turned up and soft hats rammed down nodded
familiarly to Mrs Verloc, and with a muttered
greeting, lifted up the flap at the end of the
counter in order to pass into the back parlour,
which gave access to a passage and to a steep
flight of stairs. The door of the shop was the
only means of entrance to the house in which
Mr Verloc carried on his business of a seller of
shady wares, exercised his vocation of a pro-
tector of society, and cultivated his domestic
virtues. These last were pronounced. He was
thoroughly domesticated. Neither his spiritual,
nor his mental, nor his physical needs were of
the kind to take him much abroad. He found

THE SECRET AGENT 5

at home the ease of his body and the peace of
his conscience, together with Mrs Verloc's wifely
attentions and Mrs Verloc's mother's deferential
regard.

Winnie's mother was a stout, wheezy woman,
with a large brown face. She wore a black wig
under a white cap. Her swollen legs rendered
her inactive. She considered herself to be of
French descent, which might have been true;
and after a good many years of married life
with a licensed victualler of the more common
sort, she provided for the years of widowhood
by letting furnished apartments for gentlemen
near Vauxhall Bridge Road in a square once
of some splendour and still included in the
district of Belgravia. This topographical fact
was of some advantage in advertising her
rooms ; but the patrons of the worthy widow
were not exactly of the fashionable kind. Such
as they were, her daughter Winnie helped to
look after them. Traces of the French descent
which the widow boasted of were apparent in
Winnie too. They were apparent in the ex-
tremely neat and artistic arrangement of her
glossy dark hair. Winnie had also other charms :
her youth ; her full, rounded form ; her clear com-
plexion ; the provocation of her unfathomable
reserve, which never went so far as to prevent

6 THE SECRET AGENT

conversation, carried on on the lodgers' part wit
animation, and on hers with an equable ami;
bility. It must be that Mr Verloc was susce]
tible to these fascinations. Mr Verloc was a
intermittent patron. He came and went witl
out any very apparent reason. He general!
arrived in London (like the influenza) from tl
Continent, only he arrived unheralded by tl
Press; and his visitations set in with gre;
severity. He breakfasted in bed, and remains
wallowing there with an air of quiet enjoymei
till noon every day and sometimes even to
later hour. But when he went out he seemed 1
experience a great difficulty in finding his wa
back to his temporary home in the Belgravia
square. He left it late, and returned to it earl
as early as three or four in the morning ; ar
on waking up at ten addressed Winnie, bringin
in the breakfast tray, with jocular, exhausts
civility, in the hoarse, failing tones of a ma
who had been talking vehemently for mar
hours together. His prominent, heavy-lidd*
eyes rolled sideways amorously and languidl
the bedclothes were pulled up to his chin, ar
his dark smooth moustache covered his thic
lips capable of much honeyed banter.

In Winnie's mother's opinion Mr Verl<
was a very nice gentleman. From her life

THE SECRET AGENT 7

experience gathered in various " business
houses" the good woman had taken into her
retirement an ideal of gentlemanliness as ex-
hibited by the patrons of private-saloon bars.
Mr Verloc approached that ideal ; he attained
it, in fact.

" Of course, we'll take over your furniture,
mother/' Winnie had remarked.

The lodging-house was to be given up. It
seems it would not answer to carry it on. It
would have been too much trouble for Mr
Verloc. It would not have been convenient for
his other business. What his business was he
did not say ; but after his engagement to Winnie
he took the trouble to get up before noon, and
descending the basement stairs, make himself
pleasant to Winnie's mother in the breakfast-
room downstairs where she had her motionless
being. He stroked the cat, poked the fire, had
his lunch served to him there. He left its
slightly stuffy cosiness with evident reluctance,
but, all the same, remained out till the night
was far advanced. He never offered to take
Winnie to theatres, as such a nice gentleman
ought to have done. His evenings were oc-
cupied. His work was in a way political, he
told Winnie once. She would have, he warned
her, to be very nice to his political friends.

8 THE SECRET AGENT

And with her straight, unfathomable glance she
answered that she would be so, of course.

How much more he told her as to his occupa-
tion it was impossible for Winnie's mother to
discover. The married couple took her over
with the furniture. The mean aspect of the shop
surprised her. The change from the Belgravian
square to the narrow street in Soho affected her
legs adversely. They became of an enormous
size. On the other hand, she experienced a
complete relief from material cares. Her son-
in-law's heavy good nature inspired her with a
sense of absolute safety. Her daughter's future
was obviously assured, and even as to her son
Stevie she need have no anxiety. She had not
been able to conceal from herself that he was a
terrible encumbrance, that poor Stevie. But
in view of Winnie's fondness for her delicate
brother, and of Mr Verloc's kind and generous
disposition, she felt that the poor boy was pretty
safe in this rough world And in her heart of
hearts she was not perhaps displeased that the
Verlocs had no children. As that circumstance
seemed perfectly indifferent to Mr Verloc, and
as Winnie found an object of quasi-maternal
affection in her brother, perhaps this was just
as well for poor Stevie.

For he was difficult to dispose of, that boy.

THE SECRET AGENT 9

He was delicate and, in a frail way, good-looking
too, except for the vacant droop of his lower lip.
Under our excellent system of compulsory
education he had learned to read and write, not-
withstanding the unfavourable aspect of the
lower lip. But as errand-boy he did not turn
out a great success. He forgot his messages ;
he was easily diverted from the straight path of
duty by the attractions of stray cats and dogs,
which he followed down narrow alleys into un-
savoury courts ; by the comedies of the streets,
which he contemplated open-mouthed, to the
detriment of his employer's interests ; or by the
dramas of fallen horses, whose pathos and vio-
lence induced him sometimes to shriek pierce-
ingly in a crowd, which disliked to be disturbed
by sounds of distress in its quiet enjoyment
of the national spectacle. When led away by a
grave and protecting policeman, it would often
become apparent that poor Stevie had forgotten
his address at least for a time. A brusque
question caused him to stutter to the point of
suffocation. When startled by anything per-
plexing he used to squint horribly. However,
he never had any fits (which was encouraging);
and before the natural outbursts of impatience
on the part of his father he could always, in his
childhood's days, run for protection behind the

10 THE SECRET AGENT

short skirts of his sister Winnie. On the other
hand, he might have been suspected of hiding a
fund of reckless naughtiness. When he had
reached the age of fourteen a friend of his late
father, an agent for a foreign preserved milk
firm, having given him an opening as office-boy,
he was discovered one foggy afternoon, in his
chiefs absence, busy letting off fireworks on the
staircase. He touched off in quick succession a
set of fierce rockets, angry Catherine wheels,
loudly exploding squibs and the matter might
have turned out very serious. An awful panic
spread through the whole building. Wild-eyed,
choking clerks stampeded through the passages
full of smoke, silk hats and elderly business
men could be seen rolling independently down
the stairs. Stevie did not seem to derive any
personal gratification from what he had done.
His motives for this stroke of originality were
difficult to discover. It was only later on that
Winnie obtained from him a misty and confused
confession. It seems that two other office-boys
in the building had worked upon his feelings by
tales of injustice and oppression till they had
wrought his compassion to the pitch of that
frenzy. But his father's friend, of course, dis-
missed him summarily as likely to ruin his busi-
ness. After that altruistic exploit Stevie was

THE SECRET AGENT 11

put to help wash the dishes in the basement
kitchen, and to black the boots of the gentlemen
patronising the Belgravian mansion. There
was obviously no future in such work. The
gentlemen tipped him a shilling now and then.
MrVerloc showed himself the most generous of
lodgers. But altogether all that did not amount
to much either in the way of gain or prospects ;
so that when Winnie announced her engage-
ment to Mr Verloc her mother could not help
wondering, with a sigh and a glance towards the
scullery, what would become of poor Stephen
now.

It appeared that Mr Verloc was ready to take
him over together with his wife's mother and
with the furniture, which was the whole visible
fortune of the family. Mr Verloc gathered
everything as it came to his broad, good-natured
breast. The furniture was disposed to the best
advantage all over the house, but Mrs Verloc's
mother was confined to two back rooms on the
first floor. The luckless Stevie slept in one of
them. By this time a growth of thin fluffy hair
had come to blur, like a golden mist, the sharp
line of his small lower jaw. He helped his sister
with blind love and docility in her household
duties. Mr Verloc thought that some occupa-
tion would be good for him. His spare time

12 THE SECRET AGENT

he occupied by drawing circles with compass
and pencil on a piece of paper. He applied
himself to that pastime with great industry, with
his elbows spread out and bowed low over
the kitchen table. Through the open door of
the parlour at the back of the shop Winnie, his
sister, glanced at him from time to time with
maternal vigilance.

II

OUCH was the house, the household, and the
^ business Mr Verloc left behind him on his
way westward at the hour of half-past ten in
the morning. It was unusually early for him ;
his whole person exhaled the charm of almost
dewy freshness ; he wore his blue cloth overcoat
unbuttoned ; his boots were shiny ; his cheeks,
freshly shaven, had a sort of gloss ; and even
his heavy-lidded eyes, refreshed by a night of
peaceful slumber, sent out glances of compara-
tive alertness. Through the park railings these
glances beheld men and women riding in the
Row, couples cantering past harmoniously,
others advancing sedately at a walk, loitering
groups of three or four, solitary horsemen look-
ing unsociable, and solitary women followed at
a long distance by a groom with a cockade to
his hat and a leather belt over his tight-fitting
coat. Carriages went bowling by, mostly two-
horse broughams, with here and there a victoria
with the skin of some wild beast inside and
a woman's face and hat emerging above the
folded hood. And a peculiarly London sun
'3

14 THE SECRET AGENT

against which nothing could be said except that
it looked bloodshot glorified all this by its stare.
It hung at a moderate elevation above Hyde
Park Corner with an air of punctual and be-
nign vigilance. The very pavement under Mr
Verloc's feet had an old-gold tinge in that dif-
fused light, in which neither wall, nor tree, nor
beast, nor man cast a shadow. Mr Verloc was
going westward through a town without
shadows in an atmosphere of powdered old gold.
There were red, coppery gleams on the roofs
of houses, on the corners of walls, on the panels
of carriages, on the very coats of the horses,
and on the broad back of Mr Verloc's overcoat,
where they produced a dull effect of rustiness.
But Mr Verloc was not in the least conscious
of having got rusty. He surveyed through
the park railings the evidences of the town's
opulence and luxury with an approving eye.
All these people had to be protected. Protec-
tion is the first necessity of opulence and
luxury. They had to be protected ; and their
horses, carriages, houses, servants had to be
protected ; and the source of their wealth had
to be protected in the heart of the city and
the heart of the country ; the whole social
order favourable to their hygienic idleness had
to be protected against the shallow enviousness

THE SECRET AGENT 15

of unhygienic labour. It had to and Mr Verloc
would have rubbed his hands with satisfaction
had he not been constitutionally averse from
every superfluous exertion. His idleness was
not hygienic, but it suited him very well. He
was in a manner devoted to it with a sort of
inert fanaticism, or perhaps rather with a fanati-
cal inertness. Born of industrious parents for
a life of toil, he had embraced indolence from
an impulse as profound as inexplicable and as
imperious as the impulse which directs a man's
preference for one particular woman in a given
thousand. He was too lazy even for a mere
demagogue, for a workman orator, for a leader of
labour. It was too much trouble. He required
a more perfect form of ease ; or it might have
been that he was the victim of a philosophical un-
belief in the effectiveness of every human effort.
Such a form of indolence requires, implies, a
certain amount of intelligence. Mr Verloc was
not devoid of intelligence and at the notion of
a menaced social order he would perhaps have
winked to himself if there had not been an effort
to make in that sign of scepticism. His big,
prominent eyes were not well adapted to wink-
ing. They were rather of the sort that closes
solemnly in slumber with majestic effect.

Undemonstrative and burly in a fat-pig style,

16 THE SECRET AGENT

Mr Verloc, without either rubbing his hands
with satisfaction or winking sceptically at his
thoughts, proceeded on his way. He trod the
pavement heavily with his shiny boots, and his
general get-up was that of a well-to-do mechanic
in business for himself. He might have been
anything from a picture-frame maker to a lock-
smith; an employer of labour in a small way.
But there was also about him an indescribable
air which no mechanic could have acquired in
the practice of his handicraft however dis-
honestly exercised : the air common to men
who live on the vices, the follies, or the baser
fears of mankind ; the air of moral nihilism
common to keepers of gambling hells and dis-
orderly houses ; to private detectives and inquiry
agents ; to drink sellers and, I should say, to
the sellers of invigorating electric belts and to
the inventors of patent medicines. But of that
last I am not sure, not having carried my in-
vestigations so far into the depths. For all I
know, the expression of these last may be per-
fectly diabolic. I shouldn't be surprised. What
I want to affirm is that Mr Verloc's expression
was by no means diabolic.

Before reaching Knightsbridge, Mr Verloc
took a turn to the left out of the busy main
thoroughfare, uproarious with the traffic of

THE SECRET AGENT 17

swaying omnibuses and trotting vans, in the
almost silent, swift flow of hansoms. Under
his hat, worn with a slight backward tilt, his hair
had been carefully brushed into respectful sleek-
ness ; for his business was with an Embassy.
And Mr Verloc, steady like a rock a soft kind
of rock marched now along a street which
could with every propriety be described as
private. In its breadth, emptiness, and extent
it had the majesty of inorganic nature, of matter
that never dies. The only reminder of mortality
was a doctor's brougham arrested in august
solitude close to the curbstone. The polished
knockers of the doors gleamed as far as the eye
could reach, the clean windows shone with a
dark opaque lustre. And all was still. But a
milk cart rattled noisily across the distant per-
spective ; a butcher boy, driving with the noble
recklessness of a charioteer at Olympic Games,
dashed round the corner sitting high above a
pair of red wheels. A guilty-looking cat issuing
from under the stones ran for a while in front
of Mr Verloc, then dived into another basement ;
and a thick police constable, looking a stranger
to every emotion, as if he too were part of in-
organic nature, surging apparently out of a
lamp-post, took not the slightest notice of Mr
Verloc. With a turn to the left Mr Verloc

18 THE SECRET AGENT

pursued his way along a narrow street by the
side of a yellow wall which, for some inscrutable
reason, had No. i Chesham Square written on
it in black letters. Chesham Square was at
least sixty yards away, and Mr Verloc, cosmo-
politan enough not to be deceived by London's
topographical mysteries, held on steadily, with-
out a sign of surprise or indignation. At last,
with business-like persistency, he reached the
Square, and made diagonally for the number 10.
This belonged to an imposing carriage gate in
a high, clean wall between two houses, of which
one rationally enough bore the number 9 and
the other was numbered 37; but the fact that
this last belonged to Porthill Street, a street well
known in the neighbourhood, was proclaimed
by an inscription placed above the ground-floor
windows by whatever highly efficient authority
is charged with the duty of keeping track of
London's strayed houses. Why powers are not
asked of Parliament (a short act would do) for
compelling those edifices to return where they
belong is one of the mysteries of municipal
administration. Mr Verloc did not trouble his
head about it, his mission in life being the
protection of the social mechanism, not its per-
fectionment or even its criticism.

It was so early that the porter of the Embassy

THE SECRET AGENT 19

issued hurriedly out of his lodge still struggling
with the left sleeve of his livery coat. His
waistcoat was red, and he wore knee-breeches,
but his aspect was flustered. Mr Verloc, aware
of the rush on his flank, drove it off by simply
holding out an envelope stamped with the arms
of the Embassy, and passed on. He produced
the same talisman also to the footman who
opened the door, and stood back to let him
enter the hall.

A clear fire burned in a tall fireplace, and
an elderly man standing with his back to it,
in evening dress and with a chain round his
neck, glanced up from the newspaper he was
holding spread out in both hands before his
calm and severe face. He didn't move ; but
another lackey, in brown trousers and claw-
hammer coat edged with thin yellow cord,
approaching Mr Verloc listened to the murmur
of his name, and turning round on his heel in
silence, began to walk, without looking back
once. Mr Verloc, thus led along a ground-floor
passage to the left of the great carpeted stair-
case, was suddenly motioned to enter a quite
small room furnished with a heavy writing-
table and a few chairs. The servant shut the
door, and Mr Verloc remained alone. He
did not take a seat. With his hat and stick

20 THE SECRET AGENT

held in one hand he glanced about, passing his
other podgy hand over his uncovered sleek head.

Another door opened noiselessly, and Mr
Verloc immobilising his glance in that direction
saw at first only black clothes, the bald top of
a head, and a drooping dark grey whisker on
each side of a pair of wrinkled hands. The
person who had entered was holding a batch of
papers before his eyes and walked up to the
table with a rather mincing step, turning the
papers over the while. Privy Councillor Wurmt,
Chancelier d'Ambassade, was rather short-
sighted This meritorious official laying the
papers on the table, disclosed a face of pasty com-
plexion and of melancholy ugliness surrounded
by a lot of fine, long dark grey hairs, barred
heavily by thick and bushy eyebrows. He put
on a black-framed pince-nez upon a blunt and
shapeless nose, and seemed struck by Mr
Verloc's appearance. Under the enormous
eyebrows his weak eyes blinked pathetically
through the glasses.

He made no sign of greeting ; neither did
Mr Verloc, who certainly knew his place ; but a
subtle change about the general outlines of his
shoulders and back suggested a slight bending of
Mr Verloc's spine under the vast surface of his
overcoat. Theeffect was of unobtrusivedeference.

THE SECRET AGENT 21

" I have here some of your reports," said the
bureaucrat in an unexpectedly soft and weary
voice, and pressing the tip of his forefinger on
the papers with force. He paused ; and Mr
Verloc, who had recognised his own handwriting
very well, waited in an almost breathless silence.
" We are not very satisfied with the attitude of
the police here," the other continued, with every
appearance of mental fatigue.

The shoulders of Mr Verloc, without actually
moving, suggested a shrug. And for the first
time since he left his home that morning his
lips opened.

" Every country has its police," he said
philosophically. But as the official of the
Embassy went on blinking at him steadily he
felt constrained to add : " Allow me to observe
that I have no means of action upon the police
here."

" What is desired," said the man of papers,
"is the occurrence of something definite which
should stimulate their vigilance. That is with-
in your province is it not so ? "

Mr Verloc made no answer except by a sigh,
which escaped him involuntarily, for instantly he
tried to give his face a cheerful expression. The
official blinked doubtfully, as if affected by the
dim light of the room. He repeated vaguely:

22 THE SECRET AGENT

"The vigilance of the police and the
severity of the magistrates. The general
leniency of the judicial procedure here, and the
utter absence of all repressive measures, are a
scandal to Europe. What is wished for just
now is the accentuation of the unrest of the
fermentation which undoubtedly exists "

" Undoubtedly, undoubtedly," broke in Mr
Verloc in a deep deferential bass of an oratori-
cal quality, so utterly different from the tone in
which he had spoken before that his interlocutor
remained profoundly surprised. " It exists to
a dangerous degree. My reports for the last
twelve months make it sufficiently clear/'

" Your reports for the last twelve months,"
State Councillor Wurmt began in his gentle
and dispassionate tone, "have been read by me.
I failed to discover why you wrote them at all."

A sad silence reigned for a time. Mr Verloc
seemed to have swallowed his tongue, and the
other gazed at the papers on the table fixedly.
At last he gave them a slight push.

" The state of affairs you expose there is
assumed to exist as the first condition of your
employment. What is required at present is
not writing, but the bringing to light of a
distinct, significant fact I would almost say of
an alarming fact."

THE SECRET AGENT 28

"I need not say that all my endeavours shall
be directed to that end," Mr Verloc said, with
convinced modulations in his conversational
husky tone. But the sense of being blinked at
watchfully behind the blind glitter of these eye-
glasses on the other side of the table disconcerted
him. He stopped short with a gesture of ab-
solute devotion. The useful, hard-working, if
obscure member of the Embassy had an air of
being impressed by some newly-born thought

" You are very corpulent," he said.

This observation, really of a psychological
nature, and advanced with the modest hesitation
of an officeman more familiar with ink and paper
than with the requirements of active life, stung
Mr Verloc in the manner of a rude personal
remark. He stepped back a pace.

" Eh ? What were you pleased to say ? " he
exclaimed, with husky resentment.

The Chancelier d'Ambassade entrusted with
the conduct of this interview seemed to find it
too much for him.

" I think," he said, "that you had better see
Mr Vladimir. Yes, decidedly I think you
ought to see Mr Vladimir, Be good enough to
wait here," he added, and went out with mincing
steps.

At once Mr Verloc passed his hand over his

24 THE SECRET AGENT

hair. A slight perspiration had broken out on
his forehead. He let the air escape from his
pursed-up lips like a man blowing at a spoonful
of hot soup. But when the servant in brown
appeared at the door silently, Mr Verloc had not
moved an inch from the place he had occupied
throughout the interview. He had remained
motionless, as if feeling himself surrounded by
pitfalls.

He walked along a passage lighted by a
lonely gas-jet, then up a flight of winding stairs,
and through a glazed and cheerful corridor on
the first floor. The footman threw open a door,
and stood aside. The feet of Mr Verloc felt a
thick carpet. The room was large, with three
windows ; and a young man with a shaven, big
face, sitting in a roomy arm-chair before a vast
mahogany writing-table, said in French to the
Chancelierd'Ambassacle, who was going out with
the papers in his hand :

"You are quite right, mon cher. He's fat
the animal."

Mr Vladimir, First Secretary, had a drawing-
room reputation as an agreeable and entertain-
ing man. He was something of a favourite in
society. His wit consisted in discovering droll
connections between incongruous ideas ; and
when talking in that strain he sat well forward

THE SECRET AGENT 25

on his seat, with his left hand raised, as if exhi-
biting his funny demonstrations between the
thumb and forefinger, while his round and clean-
shaven face wore an expression of merry per-
plexity.

But there was no trace of merriment or per-
plexity in the way he looked at Mr Verloc.
Lying far back in the deep arm-chair, with
squarely spread elbows, and throwing one leg
over a thick knee, he had with his smooth and
rosy countenance the air of a preternaturally
thriving baby that will not stand nonsense from
anybody.

" You understand French, I suppose ?" he said.

Mr Verloc stated huskily that he did. His
whole vast bulk had a forward inclination. He
stood on the carpet in the middle of the room,
clutching his hat and stick in one hand; the
other hung lifelessly by his side. He muttered
unobtrusively somewhere deep down in his
throat something about having done his mili-
tary service in the French artillery. At once,
with contemptuous perversity, Mr Vladimir
changed the language, and began to speak
idiomatic English without the slightest trace
of a foreign accent.

" Ah ! Yes. Of course. Let's see. How
much did you get for obtaining the design of

26 THE SECRET AGENT

the improved breech-block of their new field-
gun ? "

" Five years' rigorous confinement in a for-
tress," Mr Verloc answered unexpectedly, but
without any sign of feeling.

"You got off easily/' was Mr Vladimir's
comment. "And, anyhow, it served you right
for letting yourself get caught. What made
you go in for that sort of thing eh ? "

Mr Verloc's husky conversational voice was
heard speaking of youth, of a fatal infatuation
for an unworthy

"Aha! Cherchez la femme," Mr Vladimir
deigned to interrupt, unbending, but without
affability ; there was, on the contrary, a touch
of grimness in his condescension. " How long
have you been employed by the Embassy
here ? " he asked.

" Ever since the time of the late Baron Stott-
Wartenheim," Mr Verloc answered in subdued
tones, and protruding his lips sadly, in sign of
sorrow for the deceased diplomat. The First
Secretary observed this play of physiognomy
steadily.

"Ah! ever since. . . . Well! What have
you got to say for yourself ? " he asked sharply.

Mr Verloc answered with some surprise that
he was not aware of having anything special to

THE SECRET AGENT 27

say. He had been summoned by a letter

And he plunged his hand busily into the side
pocket of his overcoat, but before the mocking,
cynical watchfulness of Mr Vladimir, concluded
to leave it there.

"Bah!" said that latter. "What do you
mean by getting out of condition like this?
You haven't got even the physique of your
profession. You a member of a starving pro-
letariat never ! You a desperate socialist or
anarchist which is it ? "

"Anarchist/' stated Mr Verloc in a deadened
tone.

" Bosh !" went on Mr Vladimir, without rais-
ing his voice. " You startled old Wurmt himself.
You wouldn't deceive an idiot. They all are
that by - the - by, but you seem to me simply
impossible. So you began your connection
with us by stealing the French gun designs.
And you got yourself caught. That must have
been very disagreeable to our Government.
You don't seem to be very smart."

Mr Verloc tried to exculpate himself
huskily.

"As IVe had occasion to observe before, a
fatal infatuation for an unworthy "

Mr Vladimir raised a large white, plump hand

"Ah, yes. The unlucky attachment of

23 THE SECRET AGENT

your youth. She got hold of the money, and
then sold you to the police eh ? "

The doleful change in Mr Verloc's physi-
ognomy, the momentary drooping of his whole
person, confessed that such was the regrettable
case. Mr Vladimir's hand clasped the ankle
reposing on his knee. The sock was of dark
blue silk.

" You see, that was not very clever of you.
Perhaps you are too susceptible."

Mr Verloc intimated in a throaty, veiled
murmur that he was no longer young.

" Oh ! That's a failing which age does not
cure/' Mr Vladimir remarked, with sinister
familiarity. " But no ! You are too fat for
that You could not have come to look like
this if you had been at all susceptible. I'll tell
you what I think is the matter : you are a
lazy fellow. How long have you been drawing
pay from this Embassy?"

"Eleven years," was the answer, after a
moment of sulky hesitation. " I've been
charged with several missions to London while
His Excellency Baron Stott-Wartenheim was
still Ambassador in Paris. Then by his Excel-
lency's instructions I settled down in London.
I am English."

11 You are I Are you ? Eh ? "

THE SECRET AGENT 29

" A natural-born British subject/' Mr Verloc

said stolidly. " But my father was French, and
>

" Never mind explaining/ 1 interrupted the
other. " I daresay you could have been legally
a Marshal of France and a Member of Parlia-
ment in England and then, indeed, you would
have been of some use to our Embassy."

This flight of fancy provoked something like
a faint smile on Mr Verloc's face. Mr Vladimir
retained an imperturbable gravity.

" But, as I've said, you are a lazy fellow ;
you don't use your opportunities. In the time
of Baron Stott-Wartenheim we had a lot of soft-
headed people running this Embassy. They
caused fellows of your sort to form a false con-
ception of the nature of a secret service fund. It
is my business to correct this misapprehension
by telling you what the secret service is not.
It is not a philanthropic institution. I've had
you called here on purpose to tell you this/'

Mr Vladimir observed the forced expression
of bewilderment on Verloc's face, and smiled
sarcastically.

11 1 see that you understand me perfectly.
I daresay you are intelligent enough for
your work. What we want now is activity
activity."

30 THE SECRET AGENT

On repeating this last word Mr Vladimir laid
a long white forefinger on the edge of the
desk. Every trace of huskiness disappeared
from Verloc's voice. The nape of his gross
neck became crimson above the velvet collar of
his overcoat. His lips quivered before they
came widely open.

" If you'll only be good enough to look up
my record/' he boomed out in his great, clear
oratorical bass, "you'll see I gave a warning
only three months ago, on the occasion of the
Grand Duke Romuald's visit to Paris, which
was telegraphed from here to the French police,
and "

"Tut, tut!" broke out Mr Vladimir, with
a frowning grimace. "The French police had
no use for your warning. Don't roar like
this. What the devil do you mean ? "

With a note of proud humility Mr Verloc
apologised for forgetting himself. His voice,
famous for years at open-air meetings and at
workmen's assemblies in large halls, had contri-
buted, he said, to his reputation of a good and
trustworthy comrade. It was, therefore, a part
of his usefulness. It had inspired confidence in
his principles. " I was always put up to speak
by the leaders at a critical moment," Mr Verloc
declared, with obvious satisfaction. There was

THE SECRET AGENT 81

no uproar above which he could not make him-
self heard, he added ; and suddenly he made a
demonstration.

" Allow me," he said. With lowered fore-
head, without looking up, swiftly and ponder-
ously he crossed the room to one of the French
windows. As if giving way to an uncontrol-
lable impulse, he opened it a little. Mr Vladimir,
jumping up amazed from the depths of the
arm-chair, looked over his shoulder ; and below,
across the courtyard of the Embassy, well
beyond the open gate, could be seen the broad
back of a policeman watching idly the gorgeous
perambulator of a wealthy baby being wheeled
in state across the Square.

" Constable ! " said Mr Verloc, with no more
effort than if he were whispering; and Mr
Vladimir burst into a laugh on seeing the police-
man spin round as if prodded by a sharp in-
strument. Mr Verloc shut the window quietly,
and returned to the middle of the room.

" With a voice like that," he said, putting on
the husky conversational pedal, " I was natur-
ally trusted. And I knew what to say, too."

Mr Vladimir, arranging his cravat, observed
him in the glass over the mantelpiece.

" I daresay you have the social revolution-
ary jargon by heart well enough," he said

82 THE SECRET AGENT

contemptuously. "Vox et . . . You haven't
ever studied Latin have you ? "

"No," growled Mr Verloc. "You did not
expect me to know it. I belong to the million.
Who knows Latin ? Only a few hundred im-
beciles who aren't fit to take care of them-
selves."

For some thirty seconds longer Mr Vladimir
studied in the mirror the fleshy profile, the
gross bulk, of the man behind him. And at the
same time he had the advantage of seeing his
own face, clean-shaved and round, rosy about
the gills, and with the thin sensitive lips formed
exactly for the utterance of those delicate
witticisms which had made him such a favourite
in the very highest society. Then he turned,
and advanced into the room with such deter-
mination that the very ends of his quaintly old-
fashioned bow necktie seemed to bristle with
unspeakable menaces. The movement was so
swift and fierce that Mr Verloc, casting an
oblique- glance, quailed inwardly.

" Aha ! You dare be impudent," Mr Vladimir
began, with an amazingly guttural intonation
not only utterly un-English, but absolutely un-
European, and startling even to Mr Verloc's
experience of cosmopolitan slums. " You dare !
Well, I am going to speak plain English to you.

THE SECRET AGENT 33

Voice won't do. We have no use for your voice.
We don't want a voice. We want facts start-
ling facts damn you," he added, with a sort
of ferocious discretion, right into Mr Verloc's
face.

" Don't you try to come over me with your
Hyperborean manners," Mr Verloc defended
himself huskily, looking at the carpet. At this
his interlocutor, smiling mockingly above the
bristling bow of his necktie, switched the con-
versation into French.

" You give yourself for an ' agent provo-
cateur/ The proper business of an 'agent
provocateur ' is to provoke. As far as I can
judge from your record kept here, you have
done nothing to earn your money for the last
three years."

" Nothing!" exclaimed Verloc, stirring not a
limb, and not raising his eyes, but with the note
of sincere feeling in his tone. " I have several
times prevented what might have been "

" There is a proverb in this country which
says prevention is better than cure," interrupted
Mr Vladimir, throwing himself into the arm-
chair. " It is stupid in a general way. There is
no end to prevention. But it is characteristic.
They dislike finality in this country. Don't
you be too English. And in this particular in-

34 THE SECRET AGENT

stance, don't be absurd. The evil is already here.
We don't want prevention we want cure."

He paused, turned to the desk, and turning
over some papers lying there, spoke in a changed
business-like tone, without looking at Mr Verloc.

" You know, of course, of the International
Conference assembled in Milan ? "

Mr Verloc intimated hoarsely that he was in
the habit of reading the daily papers. To a
further question his answer was that, of course,
he understood what he read. At this Mr
Vladimir, smiling faintly at the documents he
was still scanning one after another, murmured
" As long as it is not written in Latin, I suppose."

" Or Chinese," added Mr Verloc stolidly.

" H'm. Some of your revolutionary friends'
effusions are written in a charabia every bit as
incomprehensible as Chinese " Mr Vladi-
mir let fall disdainfully a grey sheet of printed
matter. "What are all these leaflets headed
F. P., with a hammer, pen, and torch crossed ?
What does it mean, this F. P. ? " Mr Verloc
approached the imposing writing-table.

"The Future of the Proletariat. It's a
society," he explained, standing ponderously by
the side of the arm-chair, " not anarchist in
principle, but open to all shades of revolutionary
opinion/'

THE SECRET AGENT 35

" Are you in it ? "

"One of the Vice-Presidents," Mr Verloc
breathed out heavily ; and the First Secretary
of the Embassy raised his head to look at him.

" Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself,"
he said incisively. " Isn't your society capable
of anything else but printing this prophetic bosh
in blunt type on this filthy paper eh ? Why
don't you do something? Look here. I've
this matter in hand now, and I tell you plainly
that you will have to earn your money. The
good old Stott-Wartenheim times are over.
No work, no pay."

Mr Verloc felt a queer sensation of faintness
in his stout legs. He stepped back one pace,
and blew his nose loudly.

He was, in truth, startled and alarmed. The
rusty London sunshine struggling clear of the
London mist shed a lukewarm brightness into
the First Secretary's private room ; and in the
silence Mr Verloc heard against a window-pane
the faint buzzing of a fly his first fly of the
year heralding better than any number of
swallows the approach of spring. The useless
fussing of that tiny energetic organism affected
unpleasantly this big man threatened in his
indolence.

In the pause Mr Vladimir formulated in

36 THE SECRET AGENT

his mind a series of disparaging remarks
concerning Mr Verloc's face and figure. The
fellow was unexpectedly vulgar, heavy, and
impudently unintelligent He looked un-
commonly like a master plumber come to
present his bill. The First Secretary of the
Embassy, from his occasional excursions into
the field of American humour, had formed a
special notion of that class of mechanic as the
embodiment of fraudulent laziness and in-
competency.

This was then the famous and trusty secret
agent, so secret that he was never designated
otherwise but by the symbol A. in the late
Baron Stott-Wartenheim's official, semi-official,
and confidential correspondence ; the cele-
brated agent A., whose warnings had the
power to change the schemes and the dates
of royal, imperial, grand ducal journeys, and
sometimes caused them to be put off altogether !
This fellow! And Mr Vladimir indulged
mentally in an enormous and derisive fit
of merriment, partly at his own astonishment,
which he judged naive, but mostly at the ex-
pense of the universally regretted Baron Stott-
Wartenheim. His late Excellency, whom the
august favour of his Imperial master had im-
posed as Ambassador upon several reluctant

THE SECRET AGENT 3?

Ministers of Foreign Affairs, had enjoyed in his
lifetime a fame for an owlish, pessimistic gulli-
bility. His Excellency had the social revolution
on the brain. He imagined himself to be a
diplomatist set apart by a special dispensation to
watch the end of diplomacy, and pretty nearly
the end of the world, in a horrid democratic up-
heaval. His prophetic and doleful despatches
had been for years the joke of Foreign Offices.
He was said to have exclaimed on his death-
bed (visited by his Imperial friend and master) :
"Unhappy Europe! Thou shalt perish by the
moral insanity of thy children ! " He was fated
to be the victim of the first humbugging rascal
that came along, thought Mr Vladimir, smiling
vaguely at Mr Verloc.

" You ought to venerate the memory of Baron
Stott-Wartenheim," he exclaimed suddenly.

The lowered physiognomy of Mr Verloc
expressed a sombre and weary annoyance.

" Permit me to observe to you/' he said,
" that I came here because I was summoned by a
peremptory letter. I have been here only
twice before in the last eleven years, and cer-
tainly never at eleven in the morning. It isn't
very wise to call me up like this. There is
just a chance of being seen. And that would
be no joke for me,"

38 THE SECRET AGENT

Mr Vladimir shrugged his shoulders.

" It would destroy my usefulness/' continued
the other hotly.

" That's your affair," murmured Mr Vladimir,
with soft brutality. "When you cease to be
useful you shall cease to be employed. Yes.

Right off. Cut short You shall " Mr

Vladimir, frowning, paused, at a loss for a
sufficiently idiomatic expression, and instantly
brightened up, with a grin of beautifully white
teeth. "You shall be chucked," he brought out
ferociously.

Once more 'Mr Verloc had to react with all the
force of his will against that sensation of faint-
ness running down one's legs which once upon
a time had inspired some poor devil with the
felicitous expression : " My heart went down
intcf my boots." Mr Verloc, aware of the sen-
sation, raised his head bravely.

Mr Vladimir bore the look of heavy inquiry
with perfect serenity.

"What we want is to administer a tonic to
the Conference in Milan/' he said airily. " Its
deliberations upon international action for the
suppression of political crime don't seem to get
anywhere. England lags. This country is
absurd with its sentimental regard for indivi-
dual liberty. It's intolerable to think that all

THE SECRET AGENT 89

your friends have got only to come over

" In that way I have them all under my eye,"
Mr Verloc interrupted huskily.

" It would be much more to the point to
have them all under lock and key. England
must be brought into line. The imbecile bour-
geoisie of this country make themselves the
accomplices of the very people whose aim is to
drive them out of their houses to starve in
ditches. And they have the political power
still, if they only had the sense to use it for
their preservation. I suppose you agree that
the middle classes are stupid ? "

Mr Verloc agreed hoarsely.

" They are."

"They have no imagination. They are
blinded by an idiotic vanity. What they want
just now is a jolly good scare. This is the
psychological moment to set your friends to
work. I have had you called here to develop
to you my idea."

And Mr Vladimir developed his idea from
on high, with scorn and condescension, display-
ing at the same time an amount of ignorance
as to the real aims, thoughts, and methods of
the revolutionary world which filled the silent
Mr Verloc with inward consternation. He

40 THE SECRET AGENT

confounded causes with effects more than was
excusable ; the most distinguished propagandists
with impulsive bomb throwers ; assumed organ-
isation where in the nature of things it could
not exist ; spoke of the social revolutionary
party one moment as of a perfectly disciplined
army, where the word of chiefs was supreme,
and at another as if it had been the loosest
association of desperate brigands that ever
camped in a mountain gorge. Once Mr Verloc
had opened his mouth for a protest, but the rais-
ing of a shapely, large white hand arrested him.
Very soon he became too appalled to even try
to protest. He listened in a stillness of dread
which resembled the immobility of profound
attention.

"A series of outrages," Mr Vladimir con-
tinued calmly, " executed here in this country ;
not only planned here that would not do
they would not mind. Your friends could set
half the Continent on fire without influencing
the public opinion here in favour of a universal
repressive legislation. They will not look out-
side their backyard here/'

Mr Verloc cleared his throat, but his heart
failed him, and he said nothing.

"These outrages need not be especially
sanguinary," Mr Vladimir went on, as if deliver-

THE SECRET AGENT 41

ing a scientific lecture, "but they must be
sufficiently startling effective. Let them be
directed against buildings, for instance. What
is the fetish of the hour that all the bourgeoisie
recognise eh, Mr Verloc ? "

Mr Verloc opened his hands and shrugged
his shoulders slightly.

" You are too lazy to think," was Mr Vladimir's
comment upon that gesture. " Pay attention
to what I say. The fetish of to-day is neither
royalty nor religion. Therefore the palace and
the church should be left alone. You under-
stand what I mean, Mr Verloc ? "

The dismay and the scorn of Mr Verloc
found vent in an attempt at levity.

" Perfectly. But what of the Embassies ?
A series of attacks on the various Embassies,"
he began ; but he could not withstand the cold,
watchful stare of the First Secretary.

"You can be facetious, I see," the latter
observed carelessly. " That's all right. It
may enliven your oratory at socialistic con-
gresses. But this room is no place for it. It
would be infinitely safer for you to follow care-
fully what I am saying. As you are being
called upon to furnish facts instead of cock-and-
bull stories, you had better try to make your
profit off what I am taking the trouble to explain

42 THE SECRET AGENT

to you. The sacrosanct fetish of to-day is
science. Why don't you get some of your
friends to go for that wooden-faced panjandrum
eh ? Is it not part of these institutions which
must be swept away before the F. P. comes
along?"

Mr Verloc said nothing. He was afraid to
open his lips lest a groan should escape him.

"This is what you should try for. An
attempt upon a crowned head or on a president
is sensational enough in a way, but not so much
as it used to be. It has entered into the general
conception of the existence of all chiefs of state.
It's almost conventional especially since so
many presidents have been assassinated. Now
let us take an outrage upon say a church.
Horrible enough at first sight, no doubt, and
yet not so effective as a person of an ordinary
mind might think. No matter how revolu-
tionary and anarchist in inception, there would
be fools enough to give such an outrage the
character of a religious manifestation. And
that would detract from the especial alarming
significance we wish to give to the act. A
murderous attempt on a restaurant or a theatre
would suffer in the same way from the sugges-
tion of non-political passion : the exasperation of
a hungry man, an act of social revenge. All this

f HE SECRET AGENT 43

is used up; it is no longer instructive as an
object lesson in revolutionary anarchism. Every
newspaper has ready-made phrases to explain
such manifestations away. I am about to give
you the philosophy of bomb throwing from my
point of view ; from the point of view you pre-
tend to have been serving for the last eleven
years. I will try not to talk above your head.
The sensibilities of the class you are attacking
are soon blunted. Property seems to them an
indestructible thing. You can't count upon
their emotions either of pity or fear for very
long. A bomb outrage to have any influence
on public opinion now must go beyond the
intention of vengeance or terrorism. It must
be purely destructive. It must be that, and
only that, beyond the faintest suspicion of
any other object. You anarchists should make
it clear that you are perfectly determined to
make a clean sweep of the whole social creation.
But how to get that appallingly absurd notion
into the heads of the middle classes so that there
should be no mistake ? That's the question.
By directing your blows at something outside
the ordinary passions of humanity is the
answer. Of course, there is art A bomb in
the National Gallery would make some noise.
But it would not be serious enough. Art has

44 THE SECRET AGENT

never been their fetish. It's like breaking a
few back windows in a man's house ; whereas,
if you want to make him really sit up, you must
try at least to raise the roof. There would be
some screaming of course, but from whom ?
Artists art critics and such like people of no
account Nobody minds what they say. But
there is learning science. Any imbecile that
has got an income believes in that. He does
not know why, but he believes it matters some-
how. It is the sacrosanct fetish. All the
damned professors are radicals at heart. Let
them know -that their great panjandrum has
got to go too, to make room for the Future of
the Proletariat. A howl from all these intel-
lectual idiots is bound to help forward the
labours of the Milan Conference. They will
be writing to the papers. Their indignation
would be above suspicion, no material interests
being openly at stake, and it will alarm every
selfishness of the class which should be im-
pressed. They believe that in some mysterious
way science is at the source of their material
prosperity. They do. And the absurd ferocity
of such a demonstration will affect them more
profoundly than the mangling of a whole street
or theatre full of their own kind. To
that last they can always say : ' Oh ! it's mere

THE SECRET AGENT 45

class hate.' But what is one to say to an act
of destructive ferocity so absurd as to be incom-
prehensible, inexplicable, almost unthinkable ;
in fact, mad ? Madness alone is truly terrifying,
inasmuch as you cannot placate it either by
threats, persuasion, or bribes. Moreover, I am
a civilised man. I would never dream of direct-
ing you to organise a mere butchery, even if I
expected the best results from it. But I wouldn't
expect from a butchery the result I want. Murder
is always with us. It is almost an institution.
The demonstration must be against learning
science. But not every science will do.
The attack must have all the shocking sense-
lessness of gratuitous blasphemy. Since bombs
are your means of expression, it would be really
telling if one could throw a bomb into pure
mathematics. But that is impossible. I have
been trying to educate you ; I have expounded
to you the higher philosophy of your usefulness,
and suggested to you some serviceable argu-
ments. The practical application of my teach-
ing interests yoti mostly. But from the moment
I have undertaken to interview you I have also
given some attention to the practical aspect of
the question. What do you think of having a
go at astronomy ? "

For sometime already Mr Verloc's immobility

46 THE SECRET AGENT

by the side of the arm-chair resembled a state
of collapsed coma a sort of passive insensibility
interrupted by slight convulsive starts, such as
may be observed in the domestic dog having a
nightmare on the hearthrug. And it was in
an uneasy doglike growl that he repeated the
word:

" Astronomy."

He had not recovered thoroughly as yet
from that state of bewilderment brought about
by the effort to follow Mr Vladimir's rapid
incisive utterance. It had overcome his power
of assimilation. It had made him angry.
This anger was complicated by incredulity.
And suddenly it dawned upon him that all this
was an elaborate joke. Mr Vladimir exhibited
his white teeth in a smile, with dimples on his
round, full face posed with a complacent inclina-
tion above the bristling bow of his neck-tie.
The favourite of intelligent society women had
assumed his drawing-room attitude accompany-
ing the delivery of delicate witticisms. Sitting
well forward, his white hand upraised, he
seemed to hold delicately between his thumb
and forefinger the subtlety of his suggestion,

"There could be nothing better. Such an
outrage combines the greatest possible regard
for humanity with the most alarming display of

THE SECRET AGENT 47

ferocious imbecility. I defy the ingenuity of
journalists to persuade their public that any
given member of the proletariat can have a
personal grievance against astronomy. Star-
vation itself could hardly be dragged in there
eh ? And there are other advantages. The
whole civilised world has heard of Greenwich.
The very boot-blacks in the basement of
Charing Cross Station know something of it.
See?"

The features of Mr Vladimir, so well known
in the best society by their humorous urbanity,
beamed with cynical self-satisfaction, which
would have astonished the intelligent women
his wit entertained so exquisitely. "Yes," he
continued, with a contemptuous smile, "the
blowing up of the first meridian is bound to
raise a howl of execration."

"A difficult business," Mr Verloc mumbled,
feeling that this was the only safe thing to say.

" What is the matter ? Haven't you the
whole gang under your hand ? The very pick
of the basket ? That old terrorist Yundt is here.
I see him walking about Piccadilly in his green
havelock almost every day. And Michaelis, the
ticket-of-leave apostle you don't mean to say
you don't know where he is ? Because if you
don't, I can tell you," Mr Vladimir went on

48 THE SECRET AGENT

menacingly. " If you imagine that you are
the only one on the secret fund list, you are
mistaken. 11

This perfectly gratuitous suggestion caused
Mr Verloc to shuffle his feet slightly.

" And the whole Lausanne lot eh ?
Haven't they been flocking over here at the
first hint of the Milan Conference ? This is an
absurd country."

" It will cost money," Mr Verloc said, by a
sort of instinct.

" That cock won't fight," Mr Vladimir re-
torted, with an amazingly genuine English
accent " You'll get your screw every month,
and no more till something happens. And if
nothing happens very soon you won't get
even that What's your ostensible occupation ?
What are you supposed to live by ? "

" I keep a shop," answered Mr Verloc.

" A shop ! What sort of shop ? "

"Stationery, newspapers. My wife "

11 Your what?" interrupted Mr Vladimir in
his guttural Central Asian tones.

" My wife." Mr Verloc raised his husky voice
slightly. " I am married."

" That be damned for a yarn," exclaimed the
other in unfeigned astonishment. " Married !
And you a professed anarchist, too ! What is

THE SECRET AGENT 49

this confounded nonsense ? But I suppose it's
merely a manner of speaking. Anarchists don't
marry. It's well known. They can't. It
would be apostasy."

" My wife isn't one," Mr Verloc mumbled
sulkily. " Moreover, it's no concern of yours."

"Oh yes, it is," snapped Mr Vladimir. "I
am beginning to be convinced that you are not
at all the man for the work you've been em-
ployed on. Why, you must have discredited
yourself completely in your own world by your
marriage. Couldn't you have managed with-
out ? This is your virtuous attachment eh ?
What with one sort of attachment and another
you are doing away with your usefulness."

Mr Verloc, puffing out his cheeks, let the air
escape violently, and that was all. He had
armed himself with patience. It was not to be
tried much longer. The First Secretary be-
came suddenly very curt, detached, final.

" You may go now," he said. " A dynamite
outrage must be provoked. I give you a
month. The sittings of the Conference are
suspended. Before it reassembles again some-
thing must have happened here, or your con-
nection with us ceases."

He changed the note once more with an
unprincipled versatility.
P

50 THE SECRET AGENT

" Think over my philosophy, Mr Mr Ver-
loc," he said, with a sort of chaffing condescen-
sion, waving his hand towards the door. " Go
for the first meridian. You don't know the
middle classes as well as I do. Their sensi-
bilities are jaded The first meridian. No-
thing better, and nothing easier, I should think."

He had got up, and with his thin sensitive
lips twitching humorously, watched in the glass
over the mantelpiece Mr Verloc backing out of
the room heavily, hat and stick in hand. The
door closed.

The footnian in trousers, appearing suddenly
in the corridor, let Mr Verloc another way out
and through a small door in the corner of the
courtyard. The porter standing at the gate
ignored his exit completely ; and Mr Verloc re-
traced the path of his morning's pilgrimage as if
in a dream an angry dream. This detachment
from the material world was so complete that,
though the mortal envelope of Mr Verloc had not
hastened unduly along the streets, that part of
him to which it would be unwarrantably rude
to refuse immortality, found itself at the shop
door all at once, as if borne from west to east
on the wings of a great wind. He walked
straight behind the counter, and sat down on a
wooden chair that stood there. No one ap-

THE SECRET AGENT 51

peared to disturb his solitude. Stevie, put
into a green baize apron, was now sweeping
and dusting upstairs, intent and conscientious,
as though he were playing at it; and Mrs Ver-
loc, warned in the kitchen by the clatter of the
cracked bell, had merely come to the glazed door
of the parlour, and putting the curtain aside a
little, had peered into the dim shop. Seeing her
husband sitting there shadowy and bulky, with
his hat tilted far back on his head, she had at
once returned to her stove. An hour or more
later she took the green baize apron off her
brother Stevie, and instructed him to wash his
hands and face in the peremptory tone she had
used in that connection for fifteen years or so
ever since she had, in fact, ceased to attend to
the boy's hands and face herself. She spared
presently a glance away from her dishing-up
for the inspection of that face and those hands
which Stevie, approaching the kitchen table,
offered for her approval with an air of self-as-
surance hiding a perpetual residue of anxiety.
Formerly the anger of the father was the
supremely effective sanction of these rites, but
Mr Verloc's placidity in domestic life would
have made all mention of anger incredible
even to poor Stevie's nervousness. The theory
was that Mr Verloc would have been inexpres-

52 THE SECRET AGENT

sibly pained and shocked by any deficiency of
cleanliness at meal times. Winnie after the
death of her father found considerable consola-
tion in the feeling that she need no longer
tremble for poor Stevie. She could not bear
to see the boy hurt. It maddened her. As a
little girl she had often faced with blazing eyes
the irascible licensed victualler in defence of
her brother. Nothing now in Mrs Verloc's
appearance could lead one to suppose that she
was capable of a passionate demonstration.

She finished her dishing-up. The table was
laid in the parlour. Going to the foot of the
stairs, she screamed out " Mother ! " Then
opening the glazed door leading to the shop,
she said quietly " Adolf ! " Mr Verloc had not
changed his position ; he had not apparently
stirred a limb for an hour and a half. He got
up heavily, and came to his dinner in his over-
coat and with his hat on, without uttering a
word. His silence in itself had nothing start-
lingly unusual in this household, hidden in the
shades of the sordid street seldom touched by
the sun, behind the dim shop with its wares
of disreputable rubbish. Only that day Mr
Verloc's taciturnity was so obviously thoughtful
that the two women were impressed by it.
They sat silent themselves, keeping a watchful

THE SECRET AGENT 58

eye on poor Stevie, lest he should break out
into one of his fits of loquacity- He faced Mr
Verloc across the table, and remained very good
and quiet, staring vacantly, The endeavour to
keep him from making himself objectionable
in any way to the master of the house put no
inconsiderable anxiety into these two women's
lives. " That boy," as they alluded to him softly
between themselves, had been a source of that
sort of anxiety almost from the very day of his
birth. The late licensed victualler's humilia-
tion at having such a very peculiar boy for a
son manifested itself by a propensity to brutal
treatment; for he was a person of fine sen-
sibilities, and his sufferings as a man and
a father were perfectly genuine. Afterwards
Stevie had to be kept from making himself a
nuisance to the single gentlemen lodgers, who
are themselves a queer lot, and are easily
aggrieved. And there was always the anxiety
of his mere existence to face. Visions of a
workhouse infirmary for her child had haunted
the old woman in the basement breakfast-room
of the decayed Belgravian house. " If you had
not found such a good husband, my dear," she
used to say to her daughter, " I don't know
what would have become of that poor boy."
Mr Verloc extended as much recognition to

54 THE SECRET AGENT

Stevie as a man not particularly fond of
animals may give to his wife's beloved cat ; and
this recognition, benevolent and perfunctory, was
essentially of the same quality. Both women
admitted to themselves that not much more
could be reasonably expected. It was enough
to earn for Mr Verloc the old woman's re-
verential gratitude. In the early days, made
sceptical by the trials of friendless life, she
used sometimes to ask anxiously : " You don't
think, my dear, that Mr Verloc is getting tired
of seeing Stevie about ? " To this Winnie
replied habitually by a slight toss of her head.
Once, however, she retorted, with a rather grim
pertness : " He'll have to get tired of me first/ 1
A long silence ensued. The mother, with her
feet propped up on a stool, seemed to be trying
to get to the bottom of that answer, whose
feminine profundity had struck her all of a
heap. She had never really understood why
Winnie had married Mr Verloc. It was very
sensible of her, and evidently had turned out
for the best, but her girl might have naturally
hoped to find somebody of a more suitable age.
There had been a steady young fellow, only son
of a butcher in the next street, helping his
father in business, with whom Winnie had
been walking out with obvious gusto. He was

THE SECRET AGENT 55

dependent on his father, it is true ; but the
business was good, and his prospects excellent
He took her girl to the theatre on several
evenings. Then just as she began to dread
to hear of their engagement (for what could
she have done with that big house alone, with
Stevie on her hands), that romance came to
an abrupt end, and Winnie went about looking
very dull. But Mr Verloc, turning up provi-
dentially to occupy the first-floor front bed-
room, there had been no more question of the
young butcher. It was clearly providential

Ill

". . A LL idealisation makes life poorer.
-** To beautify it is to take away its
character of complexity it is to destroy it.
Leave that to the moralists, my boy. History
is made by men, but they do not make it in
their heads. The ideas that are born in their
consciousness play an insignificant part in the
march of events. History is dominated and
determined by the tool and the production
by the force of economic conditions. Capitalism
has made socialism, and the laws made by
the capitalism for the protection of property
are responsible for anarchism. No one can
tell what form the social organisation may take
in the future. Then why indulge in prophetic
phantasies ? At best they can only interpret the
mind of the prophet, and can have no objective
value. Leave that pastime to the moralists,
my boy."

Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave apostle, was
speaking in an even voice, a voice that wheezed
as if deadened and oppressed by the layer of
fat on his chest. He had come out of a highly

56

THE SECRET AGENT 57

hygienic prison round like a tub, with an enor-
mous stomach and distended cheeks of a pale,
semi-transparent complexion, as though for
fifteen years the servants of an outraged society
had made a point of stuffing him with fattening
foods in a damp and lightless cellar. And ever
since he had never managed to get his weight
down as much as an ounce.

It was said that for three seasons running a
very wealthy old lady had sent him for a cure to
Marienbad where he was about to share the
public curiosity once with a crowned head but
the police on that occasion ordered him to leave
within twelve hours. His martyrdom was con-
tinued by forbidding him all access to the heal-
ing waters. But he was resigned now.

With his elbow presenting no appearance of
a joint, but more like a bend in a dummy's limb,
thrown over the back of a chair, he leaned for-
ward slightly over his short and enormous
thighs to spit into the grate.

" Yes ! I had the time to think things out a
little," he added without emphasis. " Society
has given me plenty of time for meditation."

On the other side of the fireplace, in the
horse-hair arm-chair where Mrs Verloc's mother
was generally privileged to sit, Karl Yundt
giggled grimly, with a faint black grimace of a

58 THE SECRET AGENT

toothless mouth. The terrorist, as he called
himself, was old and bald, with a narrow, snow-
white wisp of a goatee hanging limply from his
chin. An extraordinary expression of under-
hand malevolence survived in his extinguished
eyes. When he rose painfully the thrusting
forward of a skinny groping hand deformed
by gouty swellings suggested the effort of a
moribund murderer summoning all h : .- remain-
ing strength for a last stab. He leaded on a
thick stick, which trembled under his other hand.
" I have always dreamed," he mouthed fiercely,
" of a band of men absolute in their resolve to
discard all scruples in the choice of means, strong
enough to give themselves frankly the name of
destroyers, and free from the taint of that re-
signed pessimism which rots the world. No
pity for anything on earth, including themselves,
and death enlisted for good and all in the service
of humanity that's what I would have liked to

see."

His little bald head quivered, imparting a
comical vibration to the wisp of white goatee.
His enunciation would have been almost
totally unintelligible to a stranger. His worn-
out passion, resembling in its impotent fierce-
ness the excitement of a senile sensualist, was
badly served by a dried throat and toothless

THE SECRET AGENT 59

gums which seemed to catch the tip of his tongue.
Mr Verloc, established in the corner of the sofa
at the other end of the room, emitted two hearty
grunts oi assent

The old terrorist turned slowly his head on
his skinny neck from side to side.

" And I could never get as many as three such
men together. So much for your rotten pessim-
ism," he snarled at Michaelis, who uncrossed his
thick legs, similar to bolsters, and slid his feet
abruptly under his chair in sign of exasperation.

He a pessimist ! Preposterous ! He cried
out that the charge was outrageous. He
was so far from pessimism that he saw already
the end of all private property coming along
logically, unavoidably, by the mere development
of its inherent viciousness. The possessors of
property had not only to face the awakened
proletariat, but they had also to fight amongst
themselves. Yes. Struggle, warfare, was the
condition of private ownership. It was fatal.
Ah ! he did not depend upon emotional excite-
ment to keep up his belief, no declamations, no
anger, no visions of blood-red flags waving, or
metaphorical lurid suns of vengeance rising
above the horizon of a doomed society. Not
he ! Cold reason, he boasted, was the basis of
his optimism. Yes, optimism

60 THE SECRET AGENT

His laborious wheezing stopped, then, after
a gasp or two, he added :

11 Don't you think that, if I had not been the
optimist I am, I could not have found in fifteen
years some means to cut my throat ? And, in
the last instance, there were always the walls of
my cell to dash my head against/'

The shortness of breath took all fire, all
animation out of his voice ; his great, pale
cheeks hung like filled pouches, motionless,
without a quiver ; but in his blue eyes, narrowed
as if peering, there was the same look of con-
fident shrewdness, a little crazy in its fixity,
they must have had while the indomitable
optimist sat thinking at night in his cell.
Before him, Karl Yundt remained standing,
one wing of his faded greenish havelock thrown
back cavalierly over his shoulder. Seated in
front of the fireplace, Comrade Ossipon, ex-
medical student, the principal writer of the
F. P. leaflets, stretched out his robust legs,
keeping the soles of his boots turned up to the
glow in the grate. A bush of crinkly yellow
hair topped his red, freckled face, with a
flattened nose and prominent mouth cast in the
rough mould of the negro type. His almond-
shaped eyes leered languidly over the high
cheek-bones. He wore a grey flannel shirt, the

THE SECRET AGENT 61

loose ends of a black silk tie hung down the
buttoned breast of his serge coat ; and his
head resting on the back of his chair, his throat
largely exposed, he raised to his lips a cigarette
in a long wooden tube, puffing jets of smoke
straight up at the ceiling.

Michaelis pursued his idea the idea of his
solitary reclusion the thought vouchsafed to
his captivity and growing like a faith revealed
in visions. He talked to himself, indifferent to
the sympathy or hostility of his hearers, in-
different indeed to their presence, from the
habit he had acquired of thinking aloud hope-
fully in the solitude of the four whitewashed
walls of his cell, in the sepulchral silence of the
great blind pile of bricks near a river, sinister
and ugly like a colossal mortuary for the socially
drowned.

He was no good in discussion, not because
any amount of argument could shake his faith,
but because the mere fact of hearing another
voice disconcerted him painfully, confusing his
thoughts at once these thoughts that for so
many years, in a mental solitude more barren
than a waterless desert, no living voice had
ever combatted, commented, or approved.

No one interrupted him now, and he made
again the confession of his faith, mastering him

62 THE SECRET AGENT

irresistible and complete like an act of grace :
the secret of fate discovered in the material side
of life ; the economic condition of the world
responsible for the past and shaping the future ;
the source of all history, of all ideas, guiding
the mental development of mankind and the

very impulses of their passion

A harsh laugh from Comrade Ossipon cut
the tirade dead short in a sudden faltering of
the tongue and a bewildered unsteadiness of the
apostle's mildly exalted eyes. He closed them
slowly for a moment, as if to collect his routed
thoughts. A silence fell ; but what with the two
gas-jets over the table and the glowing grate the
little parlour behind Mr Verloc's shop had be-
come frightfully hot Mr Verloc, getting ofif the
sofa with ponderous reluctance, opened the door
leading into the kitchen to get more air, and
thus disclosed the innocent Stevie, seated very
good and quiet at a deal table, drawing circles,
circles, circles ; innumerable circles, concentric,
eccentric ; a coruscating whirl of circles that by
their tangled multitude of repeated curves, uni-
formity of form, and confusion of intersecting
lines suggested a rendering of cosmic chaos, the
symbolism of a mad art attempting the incon-
ceivable. The artist never turned his head ; and
in all his soul's application to the task his back

THE SECRET AGENT 63

quivered, his thin neck, sunk into a deep hollow
at the base of the skull, seemed ready to snap.

Mr Verloc, after a grunt of disapproving sur-
prise, returned to the sofa. Alexander Ossipon
got up, tall in his threadbare blue serge suit
under the low ceiling, shook off the stiffness of
long immobility, and strolled away into the
kitchen (down two steps) to look over Stevie's
shoulder. He came back, pronouncing oracu-
larly : "Very good. Very characteristic, per-
fectly typical,"

"What's very good?" grunted inquiringly
Mr Verloc, settled again in the corner of the
sofa. The other explained his meaning negli-
gently, with a shade of condescension and a
toss of his head towards the kitchen :

" Typical of this form of degeneracy these
drawings, I mean."

" You would call that lad a degenerate, would
you ? " mumbled Mr Verloc.

Comrade Alexander Ossipon nicknamed the
Doctor, ex-medical student without a degree;
afterwards wandering lecturer to working-men's
associations upon the socialistic aspects of
hygiene; author of a popular quasi-medical
study (in the form of a cheap pamphlet seized
promptly by the police) entitled " The Corrod-
ing Vices of the Middle Classes " ; special dele-

64 THE SECRET AGENT

gate of the more or less mysterious Red
Committee, together with Karl Yundt and
Michaelis for the work of literary propaganda
turned upon the obscure familiar of at least
two Embassies that glance of insufferable, hope-
lessly dense sufficiency which nothing but the
frequentation of science can give to the dulness
of common mortals.

" That's what he may be called scientifically.
Very good type too, altogether, of that sort of
degenerate. It's enough to glance at the lobes
of his ears. If you read Lombroso "

Mr Verloc, moody and spread largely on the
sofa, continued to look down the row of his
waistcoat buttons ; but his cheeks became
tinged by a faint blush. Of late even the
merest derivative of the word science (a term in
itself inoffensive and of indefinite meaning) had
the curious power of evoking a definitely
offensive mental vision of Mr Vladimir, in his
body as he lived, with an almost supernatural
clearness. And this phenomenon, deserving
justly to be classed amongst the marvels of
science, induced in Mr Verloc an emotional
state of dread and exasperation tending to
express itself in violent swearing. But he said
nothing. It was Karl Yundt who was heard
implacable to his last breath.

THE SECRET AGENT 65

" Lombroso is an ass."

Comrade Ossipon met the shock of this blas-
phemy by an awful, vacant stare. And the
other, his extinguished eyes without gleams
blackening the deep shadows under the great,
bony forehead, mumbled, catching the tip of his
tongue between his lips at every second word
as though he were chewing it angrily :

" Did you ever see such an idiot ? For him
the criminal is the prisoner. Simple, is it
not ? What about those who shut him up
there forced him in there ? Exactly. Forced
him in there. And what is crime ? Does he
know that, this imbecile who has made his
way in this world of gorged fools by looking at
the ears and teeth of a lot of poor, luckless
devils ? Teeth and ears mark the criminal ?
Do they ? And what about the law that marks
him still better the pretty branding instru-
ment invented by the overfed to protect them-
selves against the hungry ? Red-hot applica-
tions on their vile skins hey ? Can't you
smell and hear from here the thick hide of the
people burn and sizzle ? That's how criminals
are made for your Lombrosos to write their
silly stuff about."

The knob of his stick and his legs shook to-
gether with passion, whilst the trunk, draped

66 THE SECRET AGENT

in the wings of the havelock, preserved his
historic attitude of defiance. He seemed to sniff
the tainted air of social cruelty, to strain his ear
for its atrocious sounds. There was an extra-
ordinary force of suggestion in this posturing.
The all but moribund veteran of dynamite wars
had been a great actor in his time actor on plat-
forms, in secret assemblies, in private interviews.
The famous terrorist had never in his life raised
personally as much as his little finger against
the social edifice. He was no man of action ; he
was not even an orator of torrential eloquence,
sweeping th$ masses along in the rushing noise
and foam of a great enthusiasm. With a more
subtle intention, he took the part of an insolent
and venomous evoker of sinister impulses which
lurk in the blind envy and exasperated vanity of
ignorance, in the suffering and misery of poverty,
in all the hopeful and noble illusions of righteous
anger, pity, and revolt. The shadow of his evil
gift clung to him yet like the smell of a deadly
drug in an old vial of poison, emptied now,
useless, ready to be thrown away upon the
rubbish-heap of things that had served their
time.

Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave apostle, smiled
vaguely with his glued lips ; his pasty moon face
drooped under the weight of melancholy assent.

THE SECRET AGENT 67

He had been a prisoner himself. His own skin
had sizzled under the red-hot brand, he mur-
mured softly. But Comrade Ossipon, nick-
named the Doctor, had got over the shock by
that time.

"You don't understand," he began disdain-
fully, but stopped short, intimidated by the
dead blackness of the cavernous eyes in the face
turned slowly towards him with a blind stare, as
if guided only by the sound. He gave the dis-
cussion up, with a slight shrug of the shoulders.

Stevie, accustomed to move about disre-
garded, had got up from the kitchen table,
carrying off his drawing to bed with him. He
had reached the parlour door in time to receive in
full the shock of Karl Yundt's eloquent imagery.
The sheet of paper covered with circles dropped
out of his fingers, and he remained staring at
the old terrorist, as if rooted suddenly to the
spot by his morbid horror and dread of physical
pain. Stevie knew very well that hot iron
applied to one's skin hurt very much. His
scared eyes blazed with indignation : it would
hurt terribly. His mouth dropped open.

Michaelis by staring unwinkingly at the fire
had regained that sentiment of isolation neces-
sary for the continuity of his thought. His
optimism had begun to How from his lips. He

68 THE SECRET AGENT

saw Capitalism doomed in its cradle, born with
the poison of the principle of competition in its
system. The great capitalists devouring the
little capitalists, concentrating the power and
the tools of production in great masses, per-
fecting industrial processes, and in the madness
of self-aggrandisement only preparing, organ-
ising, enriching, making ready the lawful in-
heritance of the suffering proletariat. Michaelis
pronounced the great word "Patience" and
his clear blue glance, raised to the low ceiling
of Mr Verloc's parlour, had a character of
seraphic trustfulness. In the doorway Stevie,
calmed, seemed sunk in hebetude.

Comrade Ossipon's face twitched with ex-
asperation.

" Then it's no use doing anything no use
whatever."

" I don't say that," protested Michaelis gently.
His vision of truth had grown so intense that
the sound of a strange voice failed to rout it
this time. He continued to look down at the
red coals. Preparation for the future was neces-
sary, and he was willing to admit that the great
change would perhaps come in the upheaval of
a revolution. But he argued that revolutionary
propaganda was a delicate work of high con-
science. It was the education of the masters of

THE SECRET AGENf 69

the world. It should be as careful as the educa-
tion given to kings. He would have it advance
its tenets cautiously, even timidly, in our ignor-
ance of the effect that may be produced by any
given economic change upon the happiness, the
morals, the intellect, the history of mankind.
For history is made with tools, not with ideas ;
and everything is changed by economic condi-
tions art, philosophy, love, virtue truth itself!

The coals in the grate settled down with a
slight crash ; and Michaelis, the hermit of visions
in the desert of a penitentiary, got up impetuously.
Round like a distended balloon, he opened his
short, thick arms, as if in a pathetically hopeless
attempt to embrace and hug to his breast a self-
regenerated universe. He gasped with ardour.

" The future is as certain as the past slavery,
feudalism, individualism, collectivism. This is
the statement of a law, not an empty prophecy."

The disdainful pout of Comrade Ossipon's
thick lips accentuated the negro type of his face.

" Nonsense," he said calmly enough. " There
is no law and no certainty. The teaching
propaganda be hanged. What the people
knows does not matter, were its knowledge
ever so accurate. The only thing that matters
to us is the emotional state of the masses.
Without emotion there is no action."

?o THE SECRET AGENT

He paused, then added with modest firmness :

" I am speaking now to you scientifically

scientifically Eh ? What did you say,

Verloc?"

" Nothing," growled from the sofa Mr Verloc,
who, provoked by the abhorrent sound, had
merely muttered a " Damn."

The venomous spluttering of the old terrorist
without teeth was heard.

" Do you know how I would call the nature
of the present economic conditions ? I would
call it cannibalistic. That's what it is ! They
are nourishing their greed on the quivering flesh
and the warm blood of the people nothing
else."

Stevie swallowed the terrifying statement
with an audible gulp, and at once, as though it
had been swift poison, sank limply in a sitting
posture on the steps of the kitchen door.

Michaelis gave no sign of having heard any-
thing. His lips seemed glued together for
good; not a quiver passed over his heavy
cheeks. With troubled eyes he looked for his
round, hard hat, and put it on his round head.
His round and obese body seemed to float low
between the chairs under the sharp elbow of
Karl Yundt. The old terrorist, raising an un-
certain and clawlike hand, gave a swaggering

THE SECRET AGENT 71

tilt to a black felt sombrero shading the hollows
and ridges of his wasted face. He got in mo-
tion slowly, striking the floor wjth his stick at
every step. It was rather an affair to get him
out of the house because, now and then, he would
stop, as if to think, and did not offer to move
again till impelled forward by Michaelis. The
gentle apostle grasped his arm with brotherly
care ; and behind them, his hands in his pockets,
the robust Ossipon yawned vaguely. A blue cap
with a patent leather peak set well at the back
of his yellow bush of hair gave him the aspect
of a Norwegian sailor bored with the world after
a thundering spree. Mr Verloc saw his guests
off the premises, attending them bareheaded, his
heavy overcoat hanging open, his eyes on the
ground.

He closed the door behind their backs with
restrained violence, turned the key, shot the
bolt. He was not satisfied with his friends.
In the light of Mr Vladimir's philosophy of
bomb throwing they appeared hopelessly futile.
The part of Mr Verloc in revolutionary politics
having been to observe, he could not all at
once, either in his own home or in larger
assemblies, take the initiative of action. He
had to be cautious. Moved by the just indig-
nation of a man well over forty, menaced in

72 THE SECRET AGENT

what is dearest to him his repose and his
security he asked himself scornfully what else
could have been expected from such a lot, this
Karl Yundt, this Michaelis this Ossipon.

Pausing in his intention to turn off the gas
burning in the middle of the shop, Mr Verloc
descended into the abyss of moral reflections.
With the insight of a kindred temperament
he pronounced his verdict. A lazy lot this
Karl Yundt, nursed by a blear-eyed old
woman, a woman he had years ago enticed
away from a friend, and afterwards had
tried more than once to shake off into the
gutter. Jolly lucky for Yundt that she had
persisted in coming up time after time, or else
there would have been no one now to help him
out of the 'bus by the Green Park railings,
where that spectre took its constitutional crawl
every fine morning. When that indomitable
snarling old witch died the swaggering spectre
would have to vanish too there would be an
end to fiery Karl Yundt. And Mr Verloc's
morality was offended also by the optimism of
Michaelis, annexed by his wealthy old lady, who
had taken lately to sending him to a cottage
she had in the country. The ex-prisoner could
moon about the shady lanes for days together
in a delicious and humanitarian idleness. As

THE SECRET AGENT 73

to Ossipon, that beggar was sure to want for
nothing as long as there were silly girls with
savings-bank books in the world. And Mr
Verloc, temperamentally identical with his as-
sociates, drew fine distinctions in his mind on
the strength of insignificant differences. He
drew them with a certain complacency, because
the instinct of conventional respectability was
strong within him, being only overcome by his
dislike of all kinds of recognised labour a
temperamental defect which he shared with a
large proportion of revolutionary reformers of a
given social state. For obviously one does not
revolt against the advantages and opportunities
of that state, but against the price which must
be paid for the same in the coin of accepted
morality, self-restraint, and toil. The majority
of revolutionists are the enemies of discipline
and fatigue mostly. There are natures too, to
whose sense of justice the price exacted looms
up monstrously enormous, odious, oppressive,
worrying, humiliating, extortionate, intolerable.
Those are the fanatics. The remaining portion
of social rebels is accounted for by vanity, the
mother of all noble and vile illusions, the com-
panion of poets, reformers, charlatans, prophets,
and incendiaries.

Lost for a whole minute in the abyss of

74 THE SECRET AGENT

meditation, Mr Verloc did not reach the depth
of these abstract considerations. Perhaps he
was not able. In any case he had not the
time. He was pulled up painfully by the sudden
recollection of Mr Vladimir, another of his
associates, whom in virtue of subtle moral
affinities he was capable of judging correctly.
He considered him as dangerous. A shade of
envy crept into his thoughts. Loafing was
all very well for these fellows, who knew not
Mr Vladimir, and had women to fall back upon ;
whereas he had a woman to provide for

At this point, by a,simple association of ideas,
Mr Verloc was brought face to face with the
necessity of going to bed some time or other
that evening. Then why not go now at once ?
He sighed. The necessity was not so normally
pleasurable as it ought to have been for a man
of his age and temperament. He dreaded the
demon of sleeplessness, which he felt had marked
him for its own. He raised his arm, and turned
off the flaring gas-jet above his head.

A bright band of light fell through the
parlour door into the part of the shop be-
hind the counter. It enabled Mr Verloc to
ascertain at a glance the number of silver coins
in the till. These were but few ; and for the
first time since he opened his shop he took a

THE SECRET AGENT 75

commercial survey of its value. This survey
was unfavourable. He had gone into trade
for no commercial reasons. He had been
guided in the selection of this peculiar line of
business by an instinctive leaning towards shady
transactions, where money is picked up easily.
Moreover, it did not take him out of his own
sphere the sphere which is watched by the
police. On the contrary, it gave him a publicly
confessed standing in that sphere, and as Mr
Verloc had unconfessed relations which made
him familiar with yet careless of the police, there
was a distinct advantage in such a situation.
But as a means of livelihood it was by itself
insufficient.

He took the cash-box out of the drawer, and
turning to leave the shop, became aware that
Stevie was still downstairs.

What on earth is he doing there ? Mr Verloc
asked himself. What's the meaning of these
antics ? He looked dubiously at his brother-
in-law, but he did not ask him for information.
Mr Verloc's intercourse with Stevie was limited
to the casual mutter of a morning, after breakfast,
" My boots," and even that was more a commui-
cation at large of a need than a direct order or
request Mr Verloc perceived with some surprise
that he did not know really what to say to Stevie.

76 THE SECRET AGENT

He stood still in the middle of the parlour, and
looked into the kitchen in silence. Nor yet
did he know what would happen if he did say
anything. And this appeared very queer to
Mr Verloc in view of the fact, borne upon him
suddenly, that he had to provide for this fellow
too. He had never given a moment's thought
till then to that aspect of Stevie's existence.

Positively he did not know how to speak to
the lad. He watched him gesticulating and
murmuring in the kitchen. Stevie prowled
round the table like an excited animal in a cage.
A tentative " Hadn't you better go to bed now ? "
produced no effect whatever ; and Mr Verloc,
abandoning the stony contemplation of his
brother-in-law's behaviour, crossed the parlour
wearily, cash-box in hand. The cause of the
general lassitude he felt while climbing the
stairs being purely mental, he became alarmed
by its inexplicable character. He hoped he was
not sickening for anything. He stopped on the
dark landing to examine his sensations. But a
slight and continuous sound of snoring pervad-
ing the obscurity interfered with their clearness.
The sound came from his mother-in-law's room.
Another one to provide for, he thought and
on this thought walked into the bedroom,

Mrs Verloc had fallen asleep with the lamp

THE SECRET AGENT 77

(no gas was laid upstairs) turned up full on the
table by the side of the bed. The light thrown
down by the shade fell dazzlingly on the white
pillow sunk by the weight of her head reposing
with closed eyes and dark hair done up in
several plaits for the night. She woke up with
the sound of her name in her ears, and saw her
husband standing over her.

" Winnie! Winnie!"

At first she did not stir, lying very quiet
and looking at the cash-box in Mr Verloc's
hand. But when she understood that her
brother was " capering all over the place down-
stairs " she swung out in one sudden movement
on to the edge of the bed. Her bare feet, as
if poked through the bottom of an unadorned,
sleeved calico sack buttoned tightly at neck
and wrists, felt over the rug for the slippers
while she looked upward into her husband's face.

" I don't know how to manage him," Mr
Verloc explained peevishly. " Won't do to
leave him downstairs alone with the lights."

She said nothing, glided across the room
swiftly, and the door closed upon her white form.

Mr Verloc deposited the cash-box on the
night table, and began the operation of un-
dressing by flinging his overcoat on to a distant
chair. His coat and waistcoat followed. He

78 THE SECRET AGENT

walked about the room in his stockinged feet,
and his burly figure, with the hands worrying
nervously at his throat, passed and repassed
across the long strip of looking-glass in the
door of his wife's wardrobe. Then after slip-
ping his braces off his shoulders he pulled up vio-
lently the Venetian blind, and leaned his forehead
against the cold window-pane a fragile film of
glass stretched between him and the enormity
of cold, black, wet, muddy, inhospitable accumu-
lation of bricks, slates, and stones, things in
themselves unlovely and unfriendly to man.

Mr Verloc.felt the latent unfriendliness of all
out of doors with a force approaching to positive
bodily anguish. There is no occupation that
fails a man more completely than that of a secret
agent of police. It's like your horse suddenly
falling dead under you in the midst of an unin-
habited and thirsty plain. The comparison
occurred to Mr Verloc because he had sat astride
various army horses in his time, and had now
the sensation of an incipient fall. The prospect
was as black as the window-pane against which
he was leaning his forehead. And suddenly the
face of Mr Vladimir, clean-shaved and witty,
appeared enhaloed in the glow of its rosy com-
plexion like a sort of pink seal impressed on
the fatal darkness.

THE SECRET AGENT 79

This luminous and mutilated vision was so
ghastly physically that Mr Verloc started away
from the window, letting down the Venetian
blind with a great rattle. Discomposed and
speechless with the apprehension of more such
visions, he beheld his wife re-enter the room
and get into bed in a calm business-like manner
which made him feel hopelessly lonely in the
world. Mrs Verloc expressed her surprise at
seeing him up yet.

" I don't feel very well," he muttered, passing
his hands over his moist brow.

''Giddiness?"

" Yes. Not at all well/

Mrs Verloc, with all the placidity of an ex-
perienced wife, expressed a confident opinion as
to the cause, and suggested the usual remedies ;
but her husband, rooted in the middle of the
room, shook his lowered head sadly.

"You'll catch cold standing there," she ob-
served.

Mr Verloc made an effort, finished undressing,
and got into bed. Down below in the quiet,
narrow street measured footsteps approached
the house, then died away unhurried and firm,
as if the passer-by had started to pace out all
eternity, from gas-lamp to gas-lamp in a night
without end ; and the drowsy ticking of the old

80 THE SECRET AGENT

clock on the landing became distinctly audible
in the bedroom.

Mrs Verloc, on her back, and staring at the
ceiling, made a remark.

" Takings very small to-day. "

Mr Verloc, in the same position, cleared his
throat as if for an important statement, but
merely inquired :

" Did you turn off the gas downstairs ? *

"Yes; I did/* answered Mrs Verloc con-
scientiously. " That poor boy is in a very
excited state to-night," she murmured, after a
pause which lasted for three ticks of the clock.

Mr Verloc cared nothing for Stevie's excite-
ment, but he felt horribly wakeful, and dreaded
facing the darkness and silence that would follow
the extinguishing of the lamp. This dread led
him to make the remark that Stevie had disre-
garded his suggestion to go to bed. Mrs Verloc,
falling into the trap, started to demonstrate at
length to her husband that this was not " impu-
dence " of any sort, but simply "excitement."
There was no young man of his age in London
more willing and docile than Stephen, she
affirmed ; none more affectionate and ready to
please, and even useful, as long as people did not
upset his poor head. Mrs Verloc, turning towards
her recumbent husband, raised herself on her

THE SECRET AGENT 81

elbow, and hung over him in her anxiety that
he should believe Stevie to be a useful member
of the family. That ardour of protecting com-
passion exalted morbidly in her childhood by the
misery of another child tinged her sallow cheeks
with a faint dusky blush, made her big eyes
gleam under the dark lids. Mrs Verloc then
looked younger ; she looked as young as
Winnie used to look, and much more ani-
mated than the Winnie of the Belgravian
mansion days had ever allowed herself to
appear to gentlemen lodgers. Mr Verloc's
anxieties had prevented him from attaching
any sense to what his wife was saying. It was
as if her voice were talking on the other side of
a very thick wall. It was her aspect that re-
called him to himself.

He appreciated this woman, and the senti-
ment of this appreciation, stirred by a display
of something resembling emotion, only added
another pang to his mental anguish. When
her voice ceased he moved uneasily, and said :

" I haven't been feeling well for the last few
days."

He might have meant this as an opening to
a complete confidence ; but Mrs Verloc laid her
head on the pillow again, and staring upward,
went on :

82 THE SECRET AGENT

"That boy hears too much of what is talked
about here. If I had known they were coming
to-night I would have seen to it that he went to
bed at the same time I did. He was out of his
mind with something he overheard about eat-
ing people's flesh and drinking blood What's
the good of talking like that ? "

There was a note of indignant scorn in her
voice. Mr Verloc was fully responsive now.

" Ask Karl Yundt," he growled savagely.

Mrs Verloc, with great decision, pronounced
Karl Yundt "a disgusting old man." She
declared openly her affection for Michaelis. Of
the robust Ossipon, in whose presence she
always felt uneasy behind an attitude of stony
reserve, she said nothing whatever. And con-
tinuing to talk of that brother, who had been for
so many years an object of care and fears :

" He isn't fit to hear what's said here. He
believes it's all true. He knows no better.
He gets into his passions over it."

Mr Verloc made no comment.

"He glared at me, as if he didn't know who
I was, when I went downstairs. His heart was
going like a hammer. He can't help being ex-
citable. I woke mother up, and asked her to
sit with him till he went to sleep. It isn't his
fault. He's no trouble when he's left alone,"

THE SECRET AGENT 88

Mr Verloc made no comment.

" I wish he had never been to school/ 1 Mrs
Verloc began again brusquely. " He's always
taking away those newspapers from the window
to read. He gets a red face poring over them.
We don't get rid of a dozen numbers in a
month. They only take up room in the front
window. And Mr Ossipon brings every week
a pile of these F. P. tracts to sell at a half-
penny each. I wouldn't give a halfpenny for
the whole lot. It's silly reading that's what it
is. There's no sale for it The other day
Stevie got hold of one, and there was a story
in it of a German soldier officer tearing half-off
the ear of a recruit, and nothing was done to
him for it The brute! I couldn't do any-
thing with Stevie that afternoon. The story
was enough, too, to make one's blood boil. But
what's the use of printing things like that ? We
aren't German slaves here, thank God. It's
not our business is it ? "

Mr Verloc made no reply.

" I had to take the carving knife from the
boy," Mrs Verloc continued, a little sleepily
now. " He was shouting and stamping and
sobbing. He can't stand the notion of any
cruelty. He would have stuck that officer like
a pig if he had seen him then. It's true, too!

84 THE SECRET AGENT

Some people don't deserve much mercy. " Mrs
Verloc's voice ceased, and the expression of
her motionless eyes became more and more
contemplative and veiled during the long pause.
" Comfortable, dear ? " she asked in a faint, far-
away voice. " Shall I put out the light now ? "

The dreary conviction that there was no
sleep for him held Mr Verloc mute and hope-
lessly inert in his fear of darkness. He made
a great effort.

"Yes. Put it out/' he said at last in a
hollow tone.

IV

TV/TOST of the thirty or so little tables covered
*-"-* by red cloths with a white design stood
ranged at right angles to the deep brown
wainscoting of the underground hall. Bronze
chandeliers with many globes depended from
the low, slightly vaulted ceiling, and the fresco
paintings ran flat and dull all round the walls
without windows, representing scenes of the
chase and of outdoor revelry in mediaeval cos-
tumes. Varlets in green jerkins brandished
hunting knives and raised on high tankards
of foaming beer.

" Unless I am very much mistaken, you are
the man who would know the inside of this con-
founded affair," said the robust Ossipon, leaning
over, his elbows far out on the table and his
feet tucked back completely under his chair.
His eyes stared with wild eagerness.

An upright semi-grand piano near the door,
flanked by two palms in pots, executed suddenly
all by itself a valse tune with aggressive
virtuosity. The din it raised was deafening.
When it ceased, as abruptly as it had started,

86 THE SECRET AGENT

the be-spectacled, dingy little man who faced
Ossipon behind a heavy glass mug full of beer
emitted calmly what had the sound of a general
proposition.

" In principle what one of us may or may
not know as to any given fact can't be a matter
for inquiry to the others."

"Certainly not," Comrade Ossipon agreed in
a quiet undertone. " In principle."

With his big florid face held between his
hands he continued to stare hard, while the
dingy little man in spectacles coolly took a
drink of beef and stood the glass mug back on
the table. His flat, large ears departed widely
from the sides of his skull, which looked frail
enough for Ossipon to crush between thumb and
forefinger ; the dome of the forehead seemed to
rest on the rim of the spectacles ; the cheeks,
of a greasy, unhealthy complexion, were merely
smudged by the miserable poverty of a thin
dark whisker. The lamentable inferiority of
the whole physique was made ludicrous by the
supremely self-confident bearing of the indi-
vidual. His speech was curt, and he had a par-
ticularly impressive manner of keeping silent.

Ossipon spoke again from between his hands
in a mutter.

" Have you been out much to-day ? "

THE SECRET AGENT 8?

"No. I stayed in bed all the morning,"
answered the other. " Why ? "

"Oh! Nothing," said Ossipon, gazing
earnestly and quivering inwardly with the
desire to find out something, but obviously
intimidated by the little man's overwhelming
air of unconcern. When talking with this
comrade which happened but rarely the
big Ossipon suffered from a sense of moral
and even physical insignificance. However, he
ventured another question. "Did you walk
down here?"

" No ; omnibus/ 1 the little man answered
readily enough. He lived far away in Islington,
in a small house down a shabby street, littered
with straw and dirty paper, where out of school
hours a troop of assorted children ran and
squabbled with a shrill, joyless, rowdy clamour.
His single back room, remarkable for having
an extremely large cupboard, he rented fur-
nished from two elderly spinsters, dressmakers
in a humble way with a clientele of servant
girls mostly. He had a heavy padlock put
on the cupboard, but otherwise he was a
model lodger, giving no trouble, and requiring
practically no attendance. His oddities were
that he insisted on being present when his
room was being swept, and that when he went

88 THE SECRET AGENT

out he locked his door, and took the key away
with him.

Ossipon had a vision of these round black-
rimmed spectacles progressing along the streets
on the top of an omnibus, their self-confident
glitter falling here and there on the walls of
houses or lowered upon the heads of the un-
conscious stream of people on the pavements.
The ghost of a sickly smile altered the set of
Ossipon's thick lips at the thought of the
walls noddipg, of people running for life at the
sight of those spectacles. If they had only
known! What a panic! He murmured in-
terrogatively : " Been sitting long here ? "

" An hour or more," answered the other
negligently, and took a pull at the dark beer.
All his movements the way he grasped the
mug. the act of drinking, the way he set the
heavy glass down and folded his arms had a
firmness, an assured precision which made the
big and muscular Ossipon, leaning forward with
staring eyes and protruding lips, look the picture
of eager indecision.

"An hour," he said. "Then it may be you
haven't heard yet the news I've heard just now
in the street. Have you ?"

The little man shook his head negatively the
least bit. But as he gave no indication of

THE SECRET AGENT 89

curiosity Ossipon ventured to add that he had
heard it just outside the place. A newspaper
boy had yelled the thing under his very nose,
and not being prepared for anything of that
sort, he was very much startled and upset. He
had to come in there with a dry mouth. " I
never thought of finding you here," he added,
murmuring steadily, with his elbows planted on
the table.

" I come here sometimes," said the other,
preserving his provoking coolness of de-
meanour.

" It's wonderful that you of all people should
have heard nothing of it," the big Ossipon
continued. His eyelids snapped nervously
upon the shining eyes. "You of all people, 1 '
he repeated tentatively. This obvious restraint
argued an incredible and inexplicable timidity
of the big fellow before the calm little man,
who again lifted the glass mug, drank, and
put it down with brusque and assured move-
ments. And that was all.

Ossipon after waiting for something, word
or sign, that did not come, made an effort to
assume a sort of indifference.

" Do you/ 1 he said, deadening his voice still
more, " give your stuff to anybody who's up to
asking you for it ? "

90 THE SECRET AGENT

14 My absolute rule is never to refuse anybody
as long as I have a pinch by me," answered
the little man with decision.

" That's a principle ? " commented Ossipon.

" It's a principle."

" And you think it's sound ? *

The large round spectacles, which gave a
look of staring self-confidence to the sallow face,
confronted Ossipon like sleepless, unwinking
orbs flashing a cold fire.

" Perfectly. Always. Under every circum-
stance. What could stop me ? Why should I
not ? Why should I think twice about it ? "

Ossipon gasped, as it were, discreetly.

" Do you mean to say you would hand it
over to a ' teck ' if one came to ask you for
your wares ? "

The other smiled faintly.

" Let them come and try it on, and you will
see," he said. "They know me, but I know
also every one of them. They won't come near
me not they."

His thin livid lips snapped together firmly.
Ossipon began to argue.

" But they could send someone rig a plant
on you. Don't you see ? Get the stuff from
you in that way, and then arrest you with the
proof in their hands."

THE SECRET AGENT 91

" Proof of what ? Dealing in explosives
without a licence perhaps." This was meant for
a contemptuous jeer, though the expression of
the thin, sickly face remained unchanged, and the
utterance was negligent. " I don't think there's
one of them anxious to make that arrest. I don't
think they could get one of them to apply for a
warrant. I mean one of the best. Not one."

" Why ? ** Ossipon asked.

" Because they know very well I take care
never to part with the last handful of my wares.
I've it always by me." He touched the breast
of his coat lightly, " In a thick glass flask," he
added.

11 So I have been told," said Ossipon, with a
shade of wonder in his voice. " But I didn't
know if "

" They know," interrupted the little man
crisply, leaning against the straight chair back,
which rose higher than his fragile head. " I
shall never be arrested The game isn't good
enough for any policeman of them all. To
deal with a man like me you require sheer,
naked, inglorious heroism."

Again his lips closed with a self-confident
snap. Ossipon repressed a movement of im-
patience.

" Or recklessness or simply ignorance," he

92 THE SECRET AGENT

retorted " TheyVe only to get somebody for
the job who does not know you carry enough
stuff in your pocket to blow yourself and every-
thing within sixty yards of you to pieces."

" I never affirmed I could not be eliminated,"
rejoined the other. " But that wouldn't be an
arrest Moreover, it's not so easy as it looks."

" Bah ! " Ossipon contradicted. " Don't be
too sure of that. What's to prevent half-a-dozen
of them jumping upon you from behind in the
street ? With your arms pinned to your sides
you could do nothing could you ? "

" Yes ; I could. I am seldom out in the
streets after dark," said the little man impas-
sively, "and never very late. I walk always
with my right hand closed round the india-
rubber ball which I have in my trouser pocket.
The pressing of this ball actuates a de-
tonator inside the flask I carry in my pocket.
It's the principle of the pneumatic instantaneous
shutter for a camera lens. The tube leads
up "

With a swift disclosing gesture he gave Ossi-
pon a glimpse of an india-rubber tube, resemb-
ling a slender brown worm, issuing from the
armhole of his waistcoat and plunging into the
inner breast pocket of his jacket. His clothes,
of a nondescript brown mixture, were thread-

THE SECRET AGENT 98

bare and marked with stains, dusty in the folds,
with ragged button-holes. " The detonator is
partly mechanical, partly chemical/' he explained,
with casual condescension.

" It is instantaneous, of course ? " murmured
Ossipon, with a slight shudder.

" Far from it," confessed the other, with a
reluctance which seemed to twist his mouth
dolorously. " A full twenty seconds must
elapse from the moment I press the ball till
the explosion takes place. 1 '

" Phew ! " whistled Ossipon, completely ap-
palled. " Twenty seconds ! Horrors ! You
mean to say that you could face that ? I should
go crazy "

" Wouldn't matter if you did. Of course, it's
the weak point of this special system, which is
only for my own use. The worst is that the
manner of exploding is always the weak point
with us. I am trying to invent a detonator that
would adjust itself to all conditions of action, and
even to unexpected changes of conditions. A
variable and yet perfectly precise mechanism.
A really intelligent detonator."

" Twenty seconds," muttered Ossipon again.
" Ough ! And then "

With a slight turn of the head the glitter of the
spectacles seemed to gauge the size of the beer-

94 THE SECRET AGENT

saloon in the basement of the renowned Silenus
Restaurant.

" Nobody in this room could hope to escape/'
was the verdict of that survey. " Nor yet this
couple going up the stairs now/'

The piano at the foot of the staircase clanged
through a mazurka with brazen impetuosity, as
though a vulgar and impudent ghost were show-
ing off. The keys sank and rose mysteriously.
Then all became still. For a moment Ossipon
imagined the overlighted place changed into a
dreadful black hole belching horrible fumes
choked with ghastly rubbish of smashed brick-
work and mutilated corpses. He had such a
distinct perception of ruin and death that he
shuddered again. The other observed, with an
air of calm sufficiency :

" In the last instance it is character alone
that makes for one's safety. There are very few
people in the world whose character is as well
established as mine/'

" I wonder how you managed it/' growled
Ossipon.

" Force of personality/' said the other, with-
out raising his voice ; and coming from the
mouth of that obviously miserable organism the
assertion caused the robust Ossipon to bite his
lower lip. " Force of personality/' he repeated,

THE SECRET AGENT 95

with ostentatious calm. " I have the means to
make myself deadly, but that by itself, you under-
stand, is absolutely nothing in the way of pro-
tection. What is effective is the belief those
people have in my will to use the means.
That's their impression. It is absolute. There-
fore I am deadly."

" There are individuals of character amongst
that lot too," muttered Ossipon ominously.

" Possibly. But it is a matter of degree
obviously, since, for instance, I am not impressed
by them. Therefore they are inferior. They
cannot be otherwise. Their character is built
upon conventional morality. It leans on the
social order. Mine stands free from everything
artificial. They are bound in all sorts of con-
ventions. They depend on life, which, in this
connection, is a historical fact surrounded by all
sorts of restraints and considerations, a complex
organised fact open to attack at every point ;
whereas I depend on death, which knows no re-
straint and cannot be attacked. My superiority
is evident."

" This is a transcendental way of putting it,"
said Ossipon, watching the cold glitter of the
round spectacles. " IVe heard Karl Yundt say
much the same thing not very long ago."

" Karl Yundt," mumbled the other contemp-

96 THE SECRET AGENT

tuously, "the delegate of the International
Red Committee, has been a posturing shadow
all his life. There are three of you delegates,
aren't there ? I won't define the other two, as
you are one of them. But what you say means
nothing. You are the worthy delegates for
revolutionary propaganda, but the trouble is
not only that you are as unable to think in-
dependently as any respectable grocer or
journalist of them all, but that you have no
character whatever."

Ossipon could not restrain a start of indigna-
tion.

" But what do you want from us ? " he ex-
claimed in a deadened voice. " What is it you
are after yourself ? "

"A perfect detonator," was the peremptory
answer. " What are you making that face for ?
You see, you can't even bear the mention of
something conclusive."

" I am not making a face," growled the
annoyed Ossipon bearishly.

"You revolutionists," the other continued,
with leisurely self-confidence, "are the slaves
of the social convention, which is afraid of you ;
slaves of it as much as the very police that
stands up in the defence of that convention.
Clearly you are, since you want to revolt;-

THE SECRET AGENT 97

tionise it. It governs your thought, of course,
and your action too, and thus neither your
thought nor your action can ever be con-
clusive." He paused, tranquil, with that air of
close, endless silence, then almost immediately
went on. " You are not a bit better than the
forces arrayed against you than the police, for
instance. The other day I came suddenly
upon Chief Inspector Heat at the corner of
Tottenham Court Road. He looked at me
very steadily. But I did not look at him.
Why should I give him more than a glance ?
He was thinking of many things of his
superiors, of his reputation, of the law courts, of
his salary, of newspapers of a hundred things.
But I was thinking of my perfect detonator
only. He meant nothing to me. He was as
insignificant as I can't call to mind anything
insignificant enough to compare him with
except Karl Yundt perhaps. Like to like. The
terrorist and the policeman both come from
the same basket. Revolution, legality counter
moves in the same game ; forms of idleness
at bottom identical. He plays his little game
so do you propagandists. But I don't play ; I
work fourteen hours a day, and go hungry some-
times. My experiments cost money now and
again, and then I must do without food for a
c

98 THE SECRET AGENT

day or two. You're looking at my beer. Yes.
I have had two glasses already, and shall have
another presently. This is a little holiday, and
I celebrate it alone. Why not ? I've the grit
to work alone, quite alone, absolutely alone.
I've worked alone for years."

Ossipon's face had turned dusky red.

" At the perfect detonator eh ? " he sneered,
very low.

"Yes," retorted the other. "It is a good
definition. You couldn't find anything half so
precise to define the nature of your activity
with all your committees and delegations. It
is I who am the true propagandist."

" We won't discuss that point," said Ossipon,
with an air of rising above personal considera-
tions. " I am afraid I'll have to spoil your
holiday for you, though. There's a man blown
up in Greenwich Park this morning."

" How do you know ? "

" They have been yelling the news in the
streets since two o'clock. I bought the paper,
and just ran in here. Then I saw you sitting
at this table. I've got it in my pocket now."

He pulled the newspaper out. It was a
good-sized rosy sheet, as if flushed by the
warmth of its own convictions, which were
optimistic. He scanned the pages rapidly.

THE SECRET AGENT 99

" Ah ! Here it is. Bomb in Greenwich Park.
There isn't much so far. Half-past eleven.
Foggy morning. Effects of explosion felt as
far as Romney Road and Park Place. Enorm-
ous hole in the ground under a tree filled with
smashed roots and broken branches. All round
fragments of a man's body blown to pieces.
That's all. The rest's mere newspaper gup. No
doubt a wicked attempt to blow up the Ob-
servatory, they say. H'm. That's hardly
credible."

He looked at the paper for a while longer in
silence, then passed it to the other, who after
gazing abstractedly at the print laid it down
without comment.

It was Ossipon who spoke first still resentful.

" The fragments of only one man, you note.
Ergo : blew himself up. That spoils your day
off for you don't it ? Were you expecting
that sort of move ? I hadn't the slightest idea
not the ghost of a notion of anything of the
sort being planned to come off here in this
country. Under the present circumstances it's
nothing short of criminal."

The little man lifted his thin black eyebrows
with dispassionate scorn.

" Criminal ! What is that ? What is crime ?
What can be the meaning of such an assertion ? "

100 THE SECRET AGENT

"How am I to express myself? One must
use the current words," said Ossipon impatiently.
"The meaning of this assertion is that this busi-
ness may affect our position very adversely in
this country. Isn't that crime enough for you ?
I am convinced you have been giving away
some of your stuff lately."

Ossipon stared hard. The other, without
flinching, lowered and raised his head slowly.

" You have ! " burst out the editor of the F. P.
leaflets in an intense whisper. " No ! And
are you really handing it over at large like this,
for the asking, to the first fool that comes
along?"

"Just so! The condemned social order has
not been built up on paper and ink, and I
don't fancy that a combination of paper and ink
will ever put an end to it, whatever you may
think. Yes, I would give the stuff with both
hands to every man, woman, or fool that likes
to come along. I know what you are thinking
about. But I am not taking my cue from the
Red Committee. I would see you all hounded
out of here, or arrested or beheaded for that
matter without turning a hair. What hap-
pens to us as individuals is not of the least
consequence."

He spoke carelessly, without heat, almost

THE SECRET AGENT ioi

without feeling, and Ossipon, secretly much
affected, tried to copy this detachment.

" If the police here knew their business they
would shoot you full of holes with revolvers, or
else try to sand-bag you from behind in broad
daylight/'

The little man seemed already to have con-
sidered that point of view in his dispassionate
self-confident manner.

"Yes," he assented with the utmost readi-
ness. " But for that they would have to face
their own institutions. Do you see? That
requires uncommon grit Grit of a special
kind"

Ossipon blinked.

" I fancy that's exactly what would happen
to you if you were to set up your laboratory in
the States. They don't stand on ceremony
with their institutions there."

" I am not likely to go and see. Otherwise
your remark is just," admitted the other.
" They have more character over there, and
their character is essentially anarchistic. Fer-
tile ground for us, the States very good
ground. The great Republic has the root of
the destructive matter in her. The collective
temperament is lawless. Excellent They
may shoot us down, but "

102 THE SECRET AGENT

" You are too transcendental for me," growled
Ossipon, with moody concern.

" Logical," protested the other. " There are
several kinds of logic. This is the enlightened
kind. America is all right. It is this country
that is dangerous, with her idealistic conception
of legality. The social spirit of this people is
wrapped up in scrupulous prejudices, and that
is fatal to our work. You talk of England being
our only refuge ! So much the worse. Capua !
What do we want with refuges ? Here you
talk, print, plot, and do nothing. I daresay it's
very convenient for such Karl Yundts."

He shrugged his shoulders slightly, then
added with the same leisurely assurance : " To
break up the superstition and worship of legality
should be our aim. Nothing would please me
more than to see Inspector Heat and his likes
take to shooting us down in broad daylight
with the approval of the public. Half our
battle would be won then ; the disintegration
of the old morality would have set in in its
very temple. That is what you ought to aim
at. But you revolutionists will never under-
stand that. You plan the future, you lose
yourselves in reveries of economical systems
derived from what is ; whereas what's wanted
is a clean sweep and a clear start for a new

THE SECRET AGENT 103

conception of life. That sort of future will
take care of itself if you will only make room
for it. Therefore I would shovel my stuff in
heaps at the corners of the streets if I had
enough for that ; and as I haven't, I do my best
by perfecting a really dependable detonator."

Ossipon, who had been mentally swimming
in deep waters, seized upon the last word as if
it were a saving plank.

" Yes. Your detonators. I shouldn't wonder
if it weren't one of your detonators that made a
clean sweep of the man in the park."

A shade of vexation darkened the determined
sallow face confronting Ossipon.

" My difficulty consists precisely in experi-
menting practically with the various kinds.
They must be tried after all. Besides "

Ossipon interrupted.

" Who could that fellow be ? I assure you that

we in London had no knowledge Couldn't

you describe the person you gave the stuff to ? "

The other turned his spectacles upon Ossipon
like a pair of searchlights.

" Describe him," he repeated slowly. " I don't
think there can be the slightest objection now.
I will describe him to you in one word Verloc."

Ossipon, whom curiosity had lifted a few inches
off his seat, dropped back, as if hit in the face.

104 THE SECRET AGENT

" Verloc ! Impossible."

The self-possessed little man nodded slightly
once.

" Yes. He's the person. You can't say that
in this case I was giving my stuff to the first
fool that came along. He was a prominent
member of the group as far as I understand."

" Yes," said Ossipon. " Prominent. No, not
exactly. He was the centre for general intel-
ligence, and usually received comrades coming
over here. More useful than important. Man
of no ideas. Years ago he used to speak at
meetings in France, I believe. Not very well,
though. He was trusted by such men as Latorre,
Moaer and all that old lot. The only talent he
showed really was his ability to elude the atten-
tions of the police somehow. Here, for instance,
he did not seem to be looked after very closely.
He was regularly married, you know. I suppose
it's with her money that he started that shop.
Seemed to make it pay, too."

Ossipon paused abruptly, muttered to himself
" I wonder what that woman will do now ? " and
fell into thought.

The other waited with ostentatious indiffer-
ence. His parentage was obscure, and he
was generally known only by his nickname
of Professor. His title to that designation

THE SECRET AGENT 105

consisted in his having been once assistant
demonstrator in chemistry at some technical
institute. He quarrelled with the authorities
upon a question of unfair treatment. After-
wards he obtained a post in the laboratory
of a manufactory of dyes. There too he had
been treated with revolting injustice. His
struggles, his privations, his hard work to raise
himself in the social scale, had filled him with
such an exalted conviction of his merits that
it was extremely difficult for the world to treat
him with justice the standard of that notion
depending so much upon the patience of the
individual. The Professor had genius, but
lacked the great social virtue of resignation.

" Intellectually a nonentity/' Ossipon pro-
nounced aloud, abandoning suddenly the inward
contemplation of Mrs Verloc's bereaved person
and business. " Quite an ordinary personality.
You are wrong in not keeping more in touch
with the comrades, Professor/' he added in a
reproving tone. " Did he say anything to you
give you some idea of his intentions ? I
hadn't seen him for a month. It seems im-
possible that he should be gone/'

" He told me it was going to be a demonstra-
tion against a building/' said the Professor. I
had to know that much to prepare the missile. I

106 THE SECRET AGENT

pointed out to him that I had hardly a sufficient
quantity for a completely destructive result,
but he pressed me very earnestly to do my best.
As he wanted something that coulcl be carried
openly in the hand, I proposed to make use of
an old one-gallon copal varnish can I happened
to have by me. He was pleased at the idea.
It gave me some trouble, because I had to cut out
the bottom first and solder it on again afterwards.
When prepared for use, the can enclosed a wide-
mouthed, well-corked jar of thick glass packed
around with some wet clay and containing six-
teen ounces of X2 green powder. The detonator
was connected with the screw top of the can.
It was ingenious a combination of time and
shock. I explained the system to him. It
was a thin tube of tin enclosing a "

Ossipon's attention had wandered.

"What do you think has happened?" he
interrupted.

" Can't tell. Screwed the top on tight, which
would make the connection, and then forgot the
time. It was set for twenty minutes. On the
other hand, the time contact being made, a
sharp shock would bring about the explosion
at once. He either ran the time too close, or
simply let the thing fall. The contact was made
all tight that's clear to me at anyrate. The

SECRET AGENT 107

system's worked perfectly. And yet you would
think that a common fool in a hurry would be
much more likely to forget to make the contact
altogether. I was worrying myself about that
sort of failure mostly. But there are more kinds
of fools than one can guard against You can't
expect a detonator to be absolutely fool-proof."

He beckoned to a waiter. Ossipon sat rigid,
with the abstracted gaze of mental travail.
After the man had gone away with the money
he roused himself, with an air of profound dis-
satisfaction.

" It's extremely unpleasant for me," he
mused. " Karl has been in bed with bronchitis
for a week. There's an even chance that he
will never get up again. Michaelis's luxuriat-
ing in the country somewhere. A fashionable
publisher has offered him five hundred pounds
for a book. It will be a ghastly failure. He
has lost the habit of consecutive thinking in
prison, you know."

The Professor on his feet, now buttoning his
coat, looked about him with perfect indifference.

"What are you going to do?" asked Ossipon
wearily. He dreaded the blame of the Central
Red Committee, a body which had no per-
manent place of abode, and of whose member-
ship he was not exactly informed. If this

108 THE SECRET AGENT

affair eventuated in the stoppage of the modest
subsidy allotted to the publication of the F. P.
pamphlets, then indeed he would have to
regret Verloc's inexplicable folly.

" Solidarity with the extremest form of
action is one thing, and silly recklessness is
another," he said, with a sort of moody brutal-
ity. " I don't know what came to Verloc.
There's some mystery there. However, he's
gone. You may take it as you like, but under the
circumstances the only policy for the militant re-
volutionary group is to disclaim all connection
with this damned freak of yours. How to make the
disclaimer convincingenough is what bothers me/'

The little man on his feet, buttoned up and
ready to go, was no taller than the seated
Ossipon. He levelled his spectacles at the
latter's face point-blank.

" You might ask the police for a testimonial
of good conduct. They know where every one
of you slept last night. Perhaps if you asked
them they would consent to publish some sort
of official statement."

" No doubt they are aware well enough
that we had nothing to do with this," mumbled
Ossipon bitterly. "What they will say is
another thing." He remained thoughtful, disre-
garding the short, owlish, shabby figure standing

THE SECRET AGENT 109

by his side. "I must lay hands on Michaelis
at once, and get him to speak from his heart at
one of our gatherings. The public has a sort
of sentimental regard for that fellow. His
name is known. And I am in touch with a few
reporters on the big dailies. What he would
say would be utter bosh, but he has a turn of
talk that makes it go down all the same."

"Like treacle," interjected the Professor,
rather low, keeping an impassive expression.

The perplexed Ossipon went on communing
with himself half audibly, after the manner of a
man reflecting in perfect solitude.

" Confounded ass ! To leave such an im-
becile business on my hands. And I don't
even know if "

He sat with compressed lips. The idea of
going for news straight to the shop lacked charm.
His notion was that Verloc's shop might have
been turned already into a police trap. They will
be bound to make some arrests, he thought,
with something resembling virtuous indigna-
tion, for the even tenor of his revolutionary
life was menaced by no fault of his. And
yet unless he went there he ran the risk
of remaining in ignorance of what perhaps it
would be very material for him to know. Then
he reflected that, if the man in the park had

110 THE SECRET AGENT

been so very much blown to pieces as the
evening papers said, he could not have been
identified. And if so, the police could have no
special reason for watching Verloc's shop more
closely than any other place known to be
frequented by marked anarchists no more
reason, in fact, than for watching the doors of
the Silenus. There would be a lot of watching
all round, no matter where he went. Still

" I wonder what I had better do now ? " he
muttered, taking counsel with himself.

A rasping voice at his elbow said, with sedate
scorn :

" Fasten yourself upon the woman for all
she's worth."

After uttering these words the Professor
walked away from the table. Ossipon, whom
that piece of insight had taken unawares, gave
one ineffectual start, and remained still, with a
helpless gaze, as though nailed fast to the seat
of his chair. The lonely piano, without as much
as a music stool to help it, struck a few chords
courageously, and beginning a selection of
national airs, played him out at last to the
tune of " Blue Bells of Scotland." The pain-
fully detached notes grew faint behind his back
while he went slowly upstairs, across the hall,
and into the street.

THE SECRET AGENT 111

In front of the great doorway a dismal row
of newspaper sellers standing clear of the pave-
ment dealt out their wares from the gutter. It
was a raw, gloomy day of the early spring ; and
the grimy sky, the mud of the streets, the rags
of the dirty men, harmonised excellently with
the eruption of the damp, rubbishy sheets of
paper soiled with printers' ink. The posters,
maculated with filth, garnished like tapestry
the sweep of the curbstone. The trade in
afternoon papers was brisk, yet, in comparison
with the swift, constant march of foot traffic, the
effect was of indifference, of a disregarded dis-
tribution. Ossipon looked hurriedly both ways
before stepping out into the cross-currents, but
the Professor was already out of sight

V

/ TpHE Professor had turned into a street to the
* left, and walked along, with his head carried
rigidly erect, in a crowd whose every individual
almost overtopped his stunted stature. It was
vain to pretend to himself that he was not
disappointed But that was mere feeling ; the
stoicism of his thought could not be disturbed
by this or any other failure. Next time, or
the time after next, a telling stroke would be
delivered something really startling a blow
fit to open the first crack in the imposing front
of the great edifice of legal conceptions sheltering
the atrocious injustice of society. Of humble
origin, and with an appearance really so mean
as to stand in the way of his considerable
natural abilities, his imagination had been fired
early by the tales of men rising from the depths
of poverty to positions of authority and afflu-
ence. The extreme, almost ascetic purity of his
thought, combined with an astounding ignorance
of worldly conditions, had set before him a goal
of power and prestige to be attained without the
medium of arts, graces, tact, wealth by sheer

THE SECRET AGENT 113

weight of merit alone. On that view he con-
sidered himself entitled to undisputed success.
His father, a delicate dark enthusiast with a slop-
ing forehead, had been an itinerant and rousing
preacher of some obscure but rigid Christian sect
a man supremely confident in the privileges of
his righteousness. In the son, individualist by
temperament, once the science of colleges had
replaced thoroughly the faith of conventicles, this
moral attitude translateditself into afrenziedpuri-
tanism of ambition. He nursed it as something
secularly holy. To see it thwarted opened his
eyes to the true nature of the world, whose
morality was artificial, corrupt, and blasphemous.
The way ot even the most justifiable revolu-
tions is prepared by personal impulses disguised
into creeds. The Professor's indignation found
in itself a final cause that absolved him from the
sin of turning to destruction as the agent of his
ambition. To destroy public faith in legality
was the imperfect formula of his pedantic fana-
ticism ; but the subconscious conviction that the
framework of an established social order cannot
be effectually shattered except by some form
of collective or individual violence was precise
and correct. He was a moral agent that
was settled in his mind. By exercising his
agency with ruthless defiance he procured for

114 THE SECRET AGENT

himself the appearances of power and personal
prestige. That was undeniable to his vengeful
bitterness. It pacified its unrest ; and in their
own way the most ardent of revolutionaries are
perhaps doing no more but seeking for peace in
common with the rest of mankind the peace
of soothed vanity, of satisfied appetites, or
perhaps of appeased conscience.

Lost in the crowd, miserable and undersized,
he meditated confidently on his power, keeping
his hand in the left pocket of his trousers,
grasping lightly the india-rubber ball, the
supreme guarantee of his sinister freedom ; but
after a while he became disagreeably aftectecl
by the sight of the roadway thronged \vith
vehicles and of the pavement crowded with men
and women. He was in a long, straight street,
peopled by a mere fraction of an immense
multitude ; but all round him, on and on, even
to the limits of the horizon hidden by the enor-
mous piles of bricks, he felt the mass of man-
kind mighty in its numbers. They swarm*xl
numerous like locusts, industrious like ants,
thoughtless like a natural force, pushing on
blind and orderly and absorbed, impervious to
sentiment, to logic, to terror too perhaps.

That was the form of doubt he feared most.
Impervious to fear! Often while walking

THE SECRET AGENT 115

abroad, when he happened also to come out
of himself, he had such moments of dreadful,
and sane mistrust of mankind. What if nothing
could move them ? Such moments come to all
men whose ambition aims at a direct grasp upon
humanity to artists, politicians, thinkers, re-
formers, or saints. A despicable emotional state
this, against which solitude fortifies a superior
character ; and with severe exultation the Pro-
fessor thought of the refuge of his room, with its
padlocked cupboard, lost in a wilderness of poor
houses, the hermitage of the perfect anarchist.
In order to reach sooner the point where he
could take his omnibus, he turned brusquely
out of the populous street into a narrow and
dusky alley paved with flagstones. On one side
the low brick houses had in their dusty
windows the sightless, moribund look of incur-
able decay empty shells awaiting demolition.
From the other side life had not departed
wholly as yet. Facing the only gas-lamp
yawned the cavern of a second-hand furniture
dealer, where, deep in the gloom of a sort of
narrow avenue winding through a bizarre forest
of wardrobes, with an undergrowth tangle of
table legs, a tall pier-glass glimmered like a pool
of water in a wood. An unhappy, homeless
couch, accompanied by two unrelated chairs,

116 THE SECRET AGENT

stood in the open. The only human being
making use of the alley besides the Professor,
coming stalwart and erect from the opposite
direction, checked his swinging pace suddenly.

" Hallo ! " he said, and stood a little on one
side watchfully.

The Professor had already stopped, with a
ready half turn which brought his shoulders
very near the other wall. His right hand fell
lightly on the back of the outcast couch, the
left remained purposefully plunged deep in
the trousers pocket, and the roundness of the
heavy rimmed spectacles imparted an owlish
character to his moody, unperturbed face.

It was like a meeting in a side corridor of a
mansion full of life. The stalwart man was
buttoned up in a dark overcoat, and carried an
umbrella. His hat, tilted back, uncovered a
good deal of forehead, which appeared very
white in the dusk. In the dark patches of the
orbits the eyeballs glimmered piercingly. Long,
drooping moustaches, the colour of ripe corn,
framed with their points the square block of his
shaved chin.

" I am not looking for you/ 1 he said curtly.

The Professor did not stir an inch. The
blended noises of the enormous town sank
down to an inarticulate low murmur. Chief

THE SECRET AGENT 117

Inspector Heat of the Special Crimes Depart-
ment changed his tone.

" Not in a hurry to get home ? " he asked,
with mocking simplicity.

The unwholesome-looking little moral agent
of destruction exulted silently in the possession
of personal prestige, keeping in check this man
armed with the defensive mandate of a menaced
society. More fortunate than Caligula, who
wished that the Roman Senate had only one
head for the better satisfaction of his cruel lust,
he beheld in that one man all the forces he had
set at defiance: the force of law, property,
oppression, and injustice. He beheld all his
enemies, and fearlessly confronted them all in a
supreme satisfaction of his vanity. They stood
perplexed before him as if before a dreadful
portent. He gloated inwardly over the chance
of this meeting affirming his superiority over
all the multitude of mankind.

It was in reality a chance meeting. Chief
Inspector Heat had had a disagreeably busy
day since his department received the first
telegram from Greenwich a little before eleven
in the morning. First of all, the fact of the
outrage being attempted less than a week after
he had assured a high official that no outbreak
of anarchist activity was to be apprehended

118 THE SECRET AGENT

was sufficiently annoying. If he ever thought
himself safe in making a statement, it was then.
He had made that statement with infinite satis-
faction to himself, because it was clear that the
high official desired greatly to hear that very
thing. He had affirmed that nothing of the
sort could even be thought of without the
department being aware of it within twenty-
four hours ; and he had spoken thus in his
consciousness of being the great expert of his
department. He had gone even so far as
to utter words which true wisdom would have
kept back. But Chief Inspector Heat was not
very wise at least not truly so. True wisdom,
which is not certain of anything in this world
of contradictions, would have prevented him
from attaining his present position. It would
have alarmed his superiors, and done away with
his chances of promotion. His promotion had
been very rapid.

" There isn't one of them, sir, that we couldn't
lay our hands on at any time of night and clay.
We know what each of them is doing hour by
hour," he had declared. And the high official
had deigned to smile. This was so obviously
the right thing to say for an officer of Chief
Inspector Heat's reputation that it was perfectly
delightful. The high official believed the de-

THE SECRET AGENT 119

claration, which chimed in with his idea of the
fitness of things. His wisdom was of an official
kind, or else he might have reflected upon a
matter not of theory but of experience that in
the close-woven stuff of relations between con-
spirator and police there occur unexpected solu-
tions of continuity, sudden holes in space and
time. A given anarchist may be watched inch
by inch and minute by minute, but a moment
always comes when somehow all sight and touch
of him are lost for a few hours, during which
something (generally an explosion) more or less
deplorable does happen. But the high official,
carried away by his sense of the fitness of things,
had smiled, and now the recollection of that
smile was very annoying to Chief Inspector
Heat, principal expert in anarchist procedure.
This was not the only circumstance whose
recollection depressed the usual serenity of the
eminent specialist. There was another dating
back only to that very morning. The thought
that when called urgently to his Assistant
Commissioner's private room he had been un-
able to conceal his astonishment was distinctly
vexing. His instinct of a successful man had
taught him long ago that, as a general rule, a
reputation is built on manner as much as on
achievement. And he felt that his manner

120 THE SECRET AGENT

when confronted with the telegram had not been
impressive. He had opened his eyes widely,
and had exclaimed "Impossible!" exposing him-
self thereby to the unanswerable retort of a
finger-tip laid forcibly on the telegram which
the Assistant Commissioner, after reading it
aloud, had flung on the desk. To be crushed, as
it were, under the tip of a forefinger was an
unpleasant experience. Very damaging, too!
Furthermore, Chief Inspecter Heat was con-
scious of not having mended matters by allow-
ing himself to express a conviction.

"One thing I can tell you at once: none
of our lot had anything to do with this."

He was strong in his integrity of a good
detective, but he saw now that an impenetrably
attentive reserve towards this incident would
have served his reputation better. On the other
hand, he admitted to himself that it was difficult
to preserve one's reputation if rank outsiders
were going to take a hand in the business.
Outsiders are the bane of the police as of other
professions. The tone of the Assistant Com-
missioner's remarks had been sour enough to
set one's teeth on edge.

And since breakfast Chief Inspector Heat
had not managed to get anything to eat.

Starting immediately to begin his investiga-

THE SECRET AGENT 121

tion on the spot, he had swallowed a good deal
of raw, unwholesome fog in the park. Then he
had walked over to the hospital ; and when the
investigation in Greenwich was concluded at
last he had lost his inclination for food. Not
accustomed, as the doctors are, to examine
closely the mangled remains of human beings,
he had been shocked by the sight disclosed to
his view when a waterproof sheet had been lifted
off a table in a certain apartment of the hospital.

Another waterproof sheet was spread over
that table in the manner of a table-cloth, with the
corners turned up over a sort of mound a heap
of rags, scorched and bloodstained, half conceal-
ing what might have been an accumulation of
raw material for a cannibal feast. It required
considerable firmness of mind not to recoil
before that sight. Chief Inspector Heat, an
efficient officer of his department, stood his
ground, but for a whole minute he did not
advance. A local constable in uniform cast a
sidelong glance, and said, with stolid simplicity :

" He's all there. Every bit of him. It was
a job."

He had been the first man on the spot after
the explosion. He mentioned the fact again.
He had seen something like a heavy flash of
lightning in the fog. At that time he was stand-

122 THE SECRET AGENT

ing at the door of the King William Street
Lodge talking to the keeper. The concussion
made him tingle all over. He ran between the
trees towards the Observatory. "As fast as
my legs would carry me," he repeated twice.

Chief Inspector Heat, bending forward over
the table in a gingerly and horrified manner,
let him run on. The hospital porter and an-
other man turned down the corners of the cloth,
and stepped aside. The Chief Inspector's eyes
searched the gruesome detail of that heap of
mixed things, which seemed to have been col-
lected in shambles and rag shops.

" You used a shovel/' he remarked, observing
a sprinkling of small gravel, tiny brown bits
of bark, and particles of splintered wood as fine
as needles.

" Had to in one place," said the stolid con-
stable. " I sent a keeper to fetch a spade.
When he heard me scraping the ground with
it he leaned his forehead against a tree, and
was as sick as a dog."

The Chief Inspector, stooping guardedly over
the table, fought down the unpleasant sensation
in his throat. The shattering violence of de-
struction which had made of that body a heap
of nameless fragments affected his feelings with
a sense of ruthless cruelty, though his reason

THE SECRET AGENT 123

told him the effect must have been as swift as
a flash of lighting. The man, whoever he was,
had died instantaneously ; and yet it seemed
impossible to believe that a human body could
have reached that state of disintegration with-
out passing through the pangs of inconceivable
agony. No physiologist, and still less of a
metaphysician, Chief Inspector Heat rose by
the force of sympathy, which is a form of fear,
above the vulgar conception of time. Instan-
taneous ! He remembered all he had ever read
in popular publications of long and terrifying
dreams dreamed in the instant of waking ; of
the whole past life lived with frightful intensity
by a drowning man as his doomed head bobs
up, streaming, for the last time. The inex-
plicable mysteries of conscious existence beset
Chief Inspector Heat till he evolved a horrible
notion that ages of atrocious pain and mental
torture could be contained between two succes-
sive winks of an eye. And meantime the Chief
Inspector went on peering at the table with a
calm face and the slightly anxious attention of
an indigent customer bending over what may be
called the by-products of a butcher's shop with a
view to an inexpensive Sunday dinner. All the
time his trained faculties of an excellent investi-
gator, who scorns no chance of information,

124 THE SECRET AGENT

followed the self-satisfied, disjointed loquacity
of the constable.

"A fair-haired fellow," the last observed in a
placid tone, and paused. " The old woman who
spoke to the sergeant noticed a fair-haired
fellow coming out of Maze Hill Station." He
paused. "And he was a fair-haired fellow.
She noticed two men coming out of the station
after the uptrain had gone on," he continued
slowly. "She couldn't tell if they were together.
She took no particular notice of the big one,
but the other was a fair, slight chap, carrying
a tin varnish can in one hand." The constable
ceased.

" Know the woman ? " muttered the Chief
Inspector, with his eyes fixed on the table, and
a vague notion in his mind of an inquest to be
held presently upon a person likely to remain
for ever unknown.

" Yes. She's housekeeper to a retired publi-
can, and attends the chapel in Park Place some-
times," the constable uttered weightily, and
paused, with another oblique glance at the table.
Then suddenly : "Well, here he is all of him I
could see. Fair. Slight slight enough.
Look at that foot there. I picked up the legs
first, one after another. He was that scattered
you didn't know where to begin."

THE SECRET AGENT 125

The constable paused ; the least flicker of an
innocent self-laudatory smile invested his round
face with an infantile expression.

" Stumbled," he announced positively. " I
stumbled once myself, and pitched on my head
too, while running up. Them roots do stick out
all about the place. Stumbled against the root of a
tree and fell, and that thing he was carrying must
have gone off right under his chest, I expect."

The echo of the words " Person unknown"
repeating itself in his inner consciousness
bothered the Chief Inspector considerably. He
would have liked to trace this affair back to its
mysterious origin for his own information. He
was professionally curious. Before the public
he would have liked to vindicate the efficiency
of his department by establishing the identity
of that man. He was a loyal servant. That,
however, appeared impossible. The first term
of the problem was unreadable lacked all
suggestion but that of atrocious cruelty.

Overcoming his physical repugnance, Chief In-
spector Heat stretched out his hand without con-
viction for the salving of his conscience, and took
up the least soiled of the rags. It was a narrow
strip of velvet with a larger triangular piece of
dark blue cloth hanging from it. He held it
up to his eyes ; and the police constable spoke.

126 THE SECRET AGENT

" Velvet collar. Funny the old woman
should have noticed the velvet collar. Dark
blue overcoat with a velvet collar, she has
told us. He was the chap she saw, and no
mistake. And here he is all complete, velvet
collar and all. I don't think I missed a single
piece as big as a postage stamp."

At this point the trained faculties of the Chief
Inspector ceased to hear the voice of the con-
stable. He moved to one of the windows for
better light. His face, averted from the room,
expressed a startled intense interest while he
examined closely the triangular piece of broad-
cloth. By a sudden jerk he detached it, and
only after stuffing it into his pocket turned
round to the room, and flung the velvet collar
back on the table.

" Cover up," he directed the attendants curtly,
without another look, and, saluted by the con-
stable, carried off his spoil hastily.

A convenient train whirled him up to town,
alone and pondering deeply, in a third-class
compartment That singed piece of cloth was
incredibly valuable, and he could not defend
himself from astonishment at the casual man-
ner it had come into his possession. It was
as if Fate had thrust that clue into his hands.
And after the manner of the average man,

THE SECRET AGENT 127

whose ambition is to command events, he be-
gan to mistrust such a gratuitous and accidental
success just because it seemed forced upon him.
The practical value of success depends not a little
on the way you look at it. But Fate looks at
nothing. It has no discretion. He no longer
considered it eminently desirable all round to
establish publicly the identity of the man who had
blown himself up that morning with such horrible
completeness. But he was not certain of the
view his department would take. A department
is to those it employs a complex personality
with ideas and even fads of its own. It depends
on the loyal devotion of its servants, and the
devoted loyalty of trusted servants is associated
with a certain amount of affectionate contempt,
which keeps it sweet, as it were. By a bene-
volent provision of Nature no man is a hero
to his valet, or else the heroes would have
to brush their own clothes. Likewise no de-
partment appears perfectly wise to the intimacy
of its workers. A department does not know
so much as some of its servants. Being a
dispassionate organism, it can never be per-
fectly informed. It would not be good for its
efficiency to know too much. Chief Inspector
Heat got out of the train in a state of thought-
fulness entirely untainted with disloyalty, but

128 THE SECRET AGENT

not quite free of that jealous mistrust which so
often springs on the ground of perfect devotion,
whether to women or to institutions.

It was in this mental disposition, physically
very empty, but still nauseated by what he had
seen, that he had come upon the Professor.
Under these conditions which make for irasci-
bility in a sound, normal man, this meeting
was specially unwelcome to Chief Inspector
Heat. He had not been thinking of the
Professor ; he had not been thinking of any
individual anarchist at all. The complexion of
that case had somehow forced upon him the
general idea of the absurdity of things human,
which in the abstract is sufficiently annoying to
an unphilosophical temperament, and in con-
crete instances becomes exasperating beyond
endurance. At the beginning of his career
Chief Inspector Heat had been concerned with
the more energetic forms of thieving. He had
gained his spurs in that spliere, and naturally
enough had kept for it, after his promotion to
another department, a feeling not very far
removed from affection. Thieving was not a
sheer absurdity. It was a form of human in-
dustry, perverse indeed, but still an industry
exercised in an industrious world ; it was work
undertaken for the same reason as the work in

THE SECRET AGENT 129

potteries, in coal mines, in fields, in tool-grind-
ing shops. It was labour, whose practical
difference from the other forms of labour con-
sisted in the nature of its risk, which did not lie
in ankylosis, or lead poisoning, or fire-damp, or
gritty dust, but in what may be briefly defined
in its own special phraseology as " Seven years
hard." Chief Inspector Heat was, of course, not
insensible to the gravity of moral differences.
But neither were the thieves he had been look-
ing after. They submitted to the severe
sanctions of a morality familiar to Chief
Inspector Heat with a certain resignation.
They were his fellow-citizens gone wrong be-
cause of imperfect education, Chief Inspector
Heat believed ; but allowing for that difference,
he could understand the mind of a burglar,
because, as a matter of fact, the mind and the
instincts of a burglar are of the same kind as
the mind and the instincts of a police officer.
Both recognise the same conventions, and have
a working knowledge of each other's methods
and of the routine of their respective trades.
They understand each other, which is advan-
tageous to both, and establishes a sort of
amenity in their relations. Products of the
same machine, one classed as useful and the
other as noxious, they take the machine for

130 THE SECRET AGENT

granted in different ways, but with a serious-
ness essentially the same. The mind of Chief
Inspector Heat was inaccessible to ideas of
revolt. But his thieves were not rebels. His
bodily vigour, his cool inflexible manner, his
courage and his fairness, had secured for him
much respect and some adulation in the sphere
of his early successes. He had felt himself
revered and admired. And Chief Inspector
Heat, arrested within six paces of the anarchist
nick-named the Professor, gave a thought of
regret to the world of thieves sane, without
morbid ideals,- working by routine, respectful of
constituted authorities, free from all taint of
hate and despair.

After paying this tribute to what is normal
in the constitution of society (for the idea of
thieving appeared to his instinct as normal as
the idea of property), Chief Inspector Heat felt
very angry with himself for having stopped,
for having spoken, for having taken that way
at all on the ground of it being a short cut
from the station to the headquarters. And he
spoke again in his big authoritative voice,
which, being moderated, had a threatening
character.

"You are not wanted, I tell you/' he re-
peated

THE SECRET AGENT 131

The anarchist did not stir. An inward
laugh of derision uncovered not only his teeth
but his gums as well, shook him all over, with-
out the slightest sound. Chief Inspector Heat
was led to add, against his better judgment :

" Not yet. When I want you I will know
where to find you."

Those were perfectly proper words, within
the tradition and suitable to his character
of a police officer addressing one of his
special flock. But the reception they got de-
parted from tradition and propriety. It was
outrageous. The stunted, weakly figure before
him spoke at last.

" I've no doubt the papers would give you
an obituary notice then. You know best what
that would be worth to you. I should think
you can imagine easily the sort of stuff that
would be printed. But you may be exposed to
the unpleasantness of being buried together
with me, though I suppose your friends would
make an effort to sort us out as much as
possible."

With all his healthy contempt for the spirit
dictating such speeches, the atrocious allusive-
ness of the words had its effect on Chief in-
spector Heat. He had too much insight, and
too much exact information as well, to dismiss

132 THE SECRET AGENT

them as rot. The dusk of this narrow lane
took on a sinister tint from the dark, frail little
figure, its back to the wall, and speaking with
a weak, self-confident voice. To the vigorous,
tenacious vitality of the Chief Inspector, the
physical wretchedness of that being, so obviously
not fit to live, was ominous; for it seemed to
him that if he had the misfortune to be such a
miserable object he would not have cared how
soon he died. Life had such a strong hold
upon him that a Iresh wave of nausea broke
out in slight perspiration upon his brow. The
murmur of town life, the subdued rumble of
wheels in the two invisible streets to the right
and left, came through the curve of the sordid
lane to his ears with a precious familiarity and
an appealing sweetness. He was human. But
Chief Inspector Heat was also a man, and he
could not let such words pass.

" All this is good to frighten children with,"
he said. "I'll have you yet."

It was very well said, without scorn, with an
almost austere quietness.

" Doubtless," was the answer; "but there's
no time like the present, believe me. For a
man of real convictions this is a fine oppor-
tunity of self-sacrifice. You may not find
another so favourable, so humane. There isn't

SECRET AGENt 133

even a cat near us, and these condemned old
houses would make a good heap of bricks
where you stand. You'll never get me at so
little cost to life and property, which you are
paid to protect/ 1

" You don't know who you're speaking to,"
said Chief Inspector Heat firmly. " If I were
to lay my hands on you now I would be no
better than yourself."

"Ah! The game!"

"You may be sure our side will win in the
end. It may yet be necessary to make people
believe that some of you ought to be shot at
sight like mad dogs. Then that will be the
game. But I'll be damned if I know what
yours is. I don't believe you know yourselves.
You'll never get anything by it/ 1

" Meantime it's you who get something from
it so far. And you get it easily, too. I won't
speak of your salary, but haven't you made
your name simply by not understanding what
we are after ? "

" What are you after, then ? " asked Chief
Inspector Heat, with scornful haste, like a man
in a hurry who perceives he is wasting his
time.

The perfect anarchist answered by a smile
which did not part his thin colourless lips ; and

134 THE SECRET AGENT

the celebrated Chief Inspector felt a sense of
superiority which induced him to raise a warn-
ing finger.

"Give it up whatever it is/' he said in
an admonishing tone, but not so kindly as if
he were condescending to give good advice to
a cracksman of repute. " Give it up. You'll
find we are too many for you."

The fixed smile on the Professor's lips
wavered, as if the mocking spirit within had
lost its assurance. Chief Inspector Heat went on :

" Don't you believe me eh ? Well, you've
only got to look about you. We are. And
anyway, you're not doing it well. You're always
making a mess of it Why, if the thieves
didn't know their work better they would

starve."

The hint of an invincible multitude behind
that man's back roused a sombre indignation
in the breast of the Professor. He smiled no
longer his enigmatic and mocking smile. The
resisting power of numbers, the unattackable
stolidity of a great multitude, was the haunting
fear of his sinister loneliness. His lips trembled
for some time before he managed to say in a
strangled voice :

11 1 am doing my work better than you're
doing yours."

THE SECRET AGENT 135

11 That'll do now," interrupted Chief Inspector
Heat hurriedly; and the Professor laughed right
out this time. While still laughing he rhoved
on ; but he did not laugh long. It was a sad-
faced, miserable little man who emerged from
the narrow passage into the bustle of the broad
thoroughfare. He walked with the nerveless
gait of a tramp going on, still going on, in-
different to rain or sun in a sinister detachment
from the aspects of sky and earth. Chief
Inspector Heat, on the other hand, after watch-
ing him for a while, stepped out with the pur-
poseful briskness of a man disregarding indeed
the inclemencies of the weather, but conscious
of having an authorised mission on this earth
and the moral support of his kind. All the
inhabitants of the immense town, the population
of the whole country, and even the teeming
millions struggling upon the planet, were with
him down to the very thieves and mendicants.
Yes, the thieves themselves were sure to be
with him in his present work. The conscious-
ness of universal support in his general activity
heartened him to grapple with the particular
problem.

The problem immediately before the Chief
Inspector was that of managing the Assistant
Commissioner of his department, his immediate

186 THE SECRET AGENT

superior. This is the perennial problem of
trusty and loyal servants ; anarchism gave it
its particular complexion, but nothing more.
Truth to say, Chief Inspector Heat thought
but little of anarchism. He did not attach
undue importance to it, and could never bring
himself to consider it seriously. It had more
the character of disorderly conduct; dis-
orderly without the human excuse of drunken-
ness, which at anyrate implies good feeling
and an amiable leaning towards festivity. As
criminals, anarchists were distinctly no class
no class at all.' And recalling the Professor,
Chief Inspector Heat, without checking his
swinging pace, muttered through his teeth:

" Lunatic."

Catching thieves was another matter alto-
gether. It had that quality of seriousness
belonging to every form of open sport where
the best man wins under perfectly compre-
hensible rules. There were no rules for dealing
with anarchists. And that was distasteful to
the Chief Inspector. It was all foolishness,
but that foolishness excited the public mind,
affected persons in high places, and touched
upon international relations. A hard, merci-
less contempt settled rigidly on the Chief In-
spector's face as he walked on. His mind ran

THE SECRET AGENT 137

over all the anarchists of his flock. Not one
of them had half the spunk of this or that
burglar he had known. Not half not one-tenth.

At headquarters the Chief Inspector was
admitted at once tothe Assistant Commissioner's
private room. He found him, pen in hand,
bent over a great table bestrewn with papers,
as if worshipping an enormous double inkstand
of bronze and crystal. Speaking tubes re-
sembling snakes were tied by the heads to the
back of the Assistant Commissioner's wooden
arm-chair, and their gaping mouths seemed
ready to bite his elbows. And in this attitude
he raised only his eyes, whose lids were darker
than his face and very much creased. The
reports had come in : every anarchist had been
exactly accounted for.

After saying this he lowered his eyes, signed
rapidly two single sheets of paper, and only then
laid down his pen, and sat well back, directing
an inquiring gaze at his renowned subordinate.
The Chief Inspector stood it well, deferential
but inscrutable.

" I daresay you were right," said the Assistant
Commissioner, "in telling me at first that the
London anarchists had nothing to do with this.
I quite appreciate the excellent watch kept on
them by your men. On the other hand, this,

188 THE SECRET AGENT

for the public, does not amount to more than a
confession of ignorance."

The Assistant Commissioner's delivery was
leisurely, as it were cautious. His thought
seemed to rest poised on a word before passing
to another, as though words had been the
stepping-stones for his intellect picking its way
across the waters of error. " Unless you have
brought something useful from Greenwich, he
added.

The Chief Inspector began at once the
account of his investigation in a clear matter-of-
fact manner. ' His superior turning his chair a
little, and crossing his thin legs, leaned sideways
on his elbow, with one hand shading his eyes.
His listening attitude had a sort of angular
and sorrowful grace. Gleams as of highly
burnished silver played on the sides of his
ebony black head when he inclined it slowly at
the end.

Chief Inspector Heat waited with the ap-
pearance of turning over in his mind all he had
just said, but, as a matter of fact, considering
the abvisability of saying something more.
The Assistant Commissioner cut his hesitation
short.

" You believe there were two men ? " he asked,
without uncovering his eyes.

THE SECRET AGENT 139

The Chief Inspector thought it more than
probable. In his opinion, the two men had
parted from each other within a hundred yards
from the Observatory walls. He explained
also how the other man could have got out of
the park speedily without being observed.
The fog, though not very dense, was in his
favour. He seemed to have escorted the other
to the spot, and then to have left him there to do
the job single-handed. Taking the time those
two were seen coming out of Maze Hill Station
by the old woman, and the time when the ex-
plosion was heard, the Chief Inspector thought
that the other man might have been actually
at the Greenwich Park Station, ready to catch
the next train up, at the moment his comrade
was destroying himself so thoroughly.

" Very thoroughly eh ? " murmured the As-
sistant Commissioner from under the shadow
of his hand.

The Chief Inspector in a few vigorous words
described the aspect of the remains. "The
coroners jury will have a treat," he added
grimly.

The Assistant Commissioner uncovered his
eyes.

" We shall have nothing to tell them," he re-
marked languidly.

140 THE SECRET AGENT

He looked up, and for a time watched the
markedly non-committal attitude of his Chief
Inspector. His nature was one that is not
easily accessible to illusions. He knew that a
department is at the mercy of its subordinate
officers, who have their own conceptions of
loyalty. His career had begun in a tropical
colony. He had liked his work there. It was
police work. He had been very successful in
tracking and breaking up certain nefarious
secret societies amongst the natives. Then he
took his long leave, and got married rather
impulsively. It was a good match from a
worldly point of view, but his wife formed an
unfavourable opinion of the colonial climate on
hearsay evidence. On the other hand, she had
influential connections. It was an excellent
match. But he did not like the work he had to
do now. He felt himself dependent on too
many subordinates and too many masters.
The near presence of that strange emotional
phenomenon called public opinion weighed upon
his spirits, and alarmed him by its irrational
nature. No doubt that from ignorance he ex-
aggerated to himself its power for good and evil
especially for evil ; and the rough east winds
of the English spring (which agreed with his
wife) augmented his general mistrust of men's

THE SECRET AGENT 141

motives and of the efficiency of their organisa-
tion. The futility of office work especially
appalled him on those days so trying to his
sensitive liver.

He got up, unfolding himself to his full
height, and with a heaviness of step remarkable
in so slender a man, moved across the room to
the window. The panes streamed with rain,
and the short street he looked down into lay
wet and empty, as if swept clear suddenly by
a great flood. It was a very trying day,
choked in raw fog to begin with, and now
drowned in cold rain. The flickering, blurred
flames of gas-lamps seemed to be dissolving in
a watery atmosphere. And the lofty preten-
sions of a mankind oppressed by the miserable
indignities of the weather appeared as a colos-
sal and hopeless vanity deserving of scorn,
wonder, and compassion.

" Horrible, horrible ! ' thought the Assistant
Commissioner to himself, with his face near the
window-pane. " We have been having this
sort of thing now for ten days ; no, a fortnight
a fortnight." He ceased to think completely
for a time. That utter stillness of his brain
lasted about three seconds. Then he said per-
functorily : " You have set inquiries on foot for
tracing that other man up and down the line ? "

142 THE SECRET AGENT

He had no doubt that everything needful
had been done. Chief Inspector Heat knew,
of course, thoroughly the business of man-hunt-
ing. And these were the routine steps, too,
that would be taken as a matter of course by
the merest beginner. A few inquiries amongst
the ticket collectors and the porters of the two
small railway stations would give additional
details as to the appearance of the two men ;
the inspection of the collected tickets would
show at once where they came from that morn-
ing. It was elementary, and could not have
been neglected.' Accordingly the Chief In-
spector answered that all this had been done
directly the old woman had come forward with
her deposition. And he mentioned the name
of a station. " That's where they came from,
sir/' he went on. " The porter who took the
tickets at Maze Hill remembers two chaps an-
swering to the description passing the barrier.
They seemed to him two respectable working
men of a superior sort sign painters or house
decorators. The big man got out of a third-
class compartment backward, with a bright tin
can in his hand. On the platform he gave it
to carry to the fair young fellow who followed
him. All this agrees exactly with what the old
woman told the police sergeant in Greenwich,"

THE SECRET AGENT 143

The Assistant Commissioner, still with his
face turned to the window, expressed his doubt
as to these two men having had anything to do
with the outrage. All this theory rested upon
the utterances of an old charwoman who had
been nearly knocked down by a man in a hurry.
Not a very substantial authority indeed, unless
on the ground of sudden inspiration, which
was hardly tenable.

" Frankly now, could she have been really
inspired ?" he queried, with grave irony, keeping
his back to the room, as if entranced by the
contemplation of the town's colossal forms half
lost in the night He did not even look round
when he heard the mutter of the word " Provi-
dential " from the principal subordinate of his
department, whose name, printed sometimes in
the papers, was familiar to the great public as
that of one of its zealous and hard-working
protectors. Chief Inspector Heat raised his
voice a little.

" Strips and bits of bright tin were quite
visible to me," he said. " That's a pretty good
corroboration."

" And these men came from that little country
station," the Assistant Commissioner mused
aloud, wondering. He was told that such was
the name on two tickets out of three given up

144 THE SECRET AGENT

out of that train at Maze Hill. The third person
who got out was a hawker from Gravesend
well known to the porters. The Chief Inspec-
tor imparted that information in a tone of
finality with some ill humour, as loyal servants
will do in the consciousness of their fidelity and
with the sense of the value of their loyal exer-
tions. And still the Assistant Commissioner
did not turn away from the darkness outside, as
vast as a sea.

"Two foreign anarchists coming from that
place," he said, apparently to the window-pane.
"It's rather unaccountable."

"Yes, sir. But it would be still more un-
accountable if that Michaelis weren't staying in
a cottage in the neighbourhood."

At the sound ot that name, falling unex-
pectedly into this annoying affair, the Assistant
Commissioner dismissed brusquely the vague
remembrance of his daily whist party at his
club. It was the most comforting habit of his
life, in a mainly successful display of his skill
without the assistance of any subordinate. He
entered his club to play from five to seven,
before going home to dinner, forgetting for
those two hours whatever was distasteful in his
life, as though the game were a beneficent drug
for allaying the pangs of moral discontent.

THE SECRET AGENT 145

His partners were the gloomily humorous
editor of a celebrated magazine ; a silent, elderly
barrister with malicious little eyes; and a highly
martial, simple-minded old Colonel with nervous
brown hands. They were his club acquaint-
ances merely. He never met them elsewhere
except at the card-table. But they all seemed
to approach the game in the spirit of co-sufferers,
as if it were indeed a drug against the secret
ills of existence ; and every day as the sun
declined over the countless roofs of the town, a
mellow, pleasurable impatience, resembling the
impulse of a sure and profound friendship,
lightened his professional labours. And now
this pleasurable sensation went out of him with
something resembling a physical shock, and was
replaced by a special kind of interest in his
work of social protection an improper sort of
interest, which may be defined best as a sudden
and alert mibtrvist of the weapon in his hand

VI

/ TpHE lady patroness of Michaelis, the ticket-
^ of-leave apostle of humanitarian hopes, was
one of the most influential and distinguished con-
nections of the Assistant Commissioner's wife,
whom she called Annie, and treated still rather
as a not very wise and utterly inexperi-
enced young girl. But she had consented to
accept him on a friendly footing, which was by
no means the case with all of his wife's in-
fluential connections. Married young and
splendidly at some remote epoch of the past, she
had had for a time a close view of great affairs
and even of some great men. She herself was
a great lady. Old now in the number of her
years, she had that sort of exceptional tempera-
ment which defies time with scornful disregard,
as if it were a rather vulgar convention sub-
mitted to by the mass of inferior mankind.
Many other conventions easier to set aside,
alas! failed to obtain her recognition, also on
temperamental grounds Cither because they
bored her, or else because they stood in the way
of her scorns and sympathies. Admiration was

146

THE SECRET AGENT 147

a sentiment unknown to her (it was one of the
secret griefs of her most noble husband against
her) first, as always more or less tainted with
mediocrity, and next as being in a way an ad-
mission of inferiority. And both were frankly
inconceivable to her nature. To be fearlessly
outspoken in her opinions came easily to her,
since she judged solely from the standpoint of
her social position. She was equally untram-
melled in her actions ; and as her tactfulness
proceeded from genuine humanity, her bodily
vigour remained remarkable and her superiority
was serene and cordial, three generations had
admired her infinitely, and the last she was
likely to see had pronounced her a wonderful
woman. Meantime intelligent, with a sort of
lofty simplicity, and curious at heart, but not like
many women merely of social gossip, she amused
her age by attracting within her ken through
the power of her great, almost historical, social
prestige everything that rose above the dead
level of mankind, lawfully or unlawfully, by
position, wit, audacity, fortune or misfortune.
Royal Highnesses, artists, men of science,
young statesmen, and charlatans of all ages and
conditions, who, unsubstantial and light, bobbing
up like corks, show best the direction of the
surface currents, had been welcomed in that

148 THE SECRET AGENT

house, listened to, penetrated, understood,
appraised, for her own edification. In her own
words, she liked to watch what the world was
coming to. And as she had a practical mind
her judgment of men and things, though based
on special prejudices, was seldom totally wrong,
and almost never wrong-headed. Her draw-
ing-room was probably the only place in the
wide world where an Assistant Commissioner
of Police could meet a convict liberated on a
ticket-of-leave on other than professional and
official ground. Who had brought Michaelis
there one afternoon the Assistant Commissioner
did not remember very well. He had a notion
it must have been a certain Member of Parlia-
ment of illustrious parentage and unconven-
tional sympathies, which were the standing joke
of the comic papers. The notabilities and even
the simple notorieties of the day brought each
other freely to that temple of an old woman's
not ignoble curiosity. You never could guess
whom you were likely to come upon being
received in semi-privacy within the faded blue
silk and gilt frame screen, making a cosy nook
for a couch and a few arm-chairs in the great
drawing-room, with its hum of voices and the
groups of people seated or standing in the light
of six tall windows.

THE SECRET AGENT 149

Michaelis had been the object of a revulsion of
popular sentiment, the same sentiment which
years ago had applauded the ferocity of the life
sentence passed upon him for complicity in a
rather mad attempt to rescue some prisoners
from a police van. The plan of the con-
spirators had been to shoot down the horses
and overpower the escort Unfortunately, one
of the police constables got shot too. He left
a wife and three small children, and the death of
that man aroused through the length and
breadth of a realm for whose defence, welfare,
and glory me i die every day as matter of duty,
an outburst of furious indignation, of a raging
implacable pity for the victim. Three ring-
leaders got hanged. Michaelis, young and slim,
locksmith by trade, and great frequenter of even-
ing schools, did not even know that anybody
had been killed, his part with a few others being
to force open the door at the back of the special
conveyance. When arrested he had a bunch of
skeleton keys in one pocket a heavy chisel in
another, and a short crowbar in his hand: neither
more nor less than a burglar. But no burglar
would have received such a heavy sentence.
The death of the constable had made him miser-
able at heart, but the failure of the plot also.
He did not conceal either of these sentiments

150 THE SECRET AGENT

from his empanelled countrymen, and that sort
of compunction appeared shockingly imperfect
to the crammed court. The judge on passing
sentence commented feelingly upon the de-
pravity and callousness of the young prisoner.

That made the groundless fame of his con-
demnation ; the fame of his release was made
for him on no better grounds by people who
wished to exploit the sentimental aspect of his
imprisonment either for purposes of their own
or for no intelligible purpose. He let them
do so in the innocence of his heart and the
simplicity of his mind. Nothing that happened
to him individually had any importance. He
was like those saintly men whose personality
is lost in the contemplation of their faith. His
ideas were not in the nature of convictions.
They were inaccessible to reasoning. They
formed in all their contradictions and obscuri-
ties an invincible and humanitarian creed, which
he confessed rather than preached, with an
obstinate gentleness, a smile of pacific assurance
on his lips, and his candid blue eyes cast down
because the sight of faces troubled his inspira-
tion developed in solitude. In that character-
istic attitude, pathetic in his grotesque and
incurable obesity which he had to drag like a
galley slave's bullet to the end of his days, the

THE SECRET AGENT 151

Assistant Commissioner of Police beheld the
ticket-of-leave apostle filling a privileged arm-
chair within the screen. He sat there by the
head of the old lady's couch, mild-voiced and
quiet, with no more self-consciousness than a
very small child, and with something of a child's
charm the appealing charm of trustfulness.
Confident of the future, whose secret ways had
been revealed to him within the four walls of
a well-known penitentiary, he had no reason to
look with suspicion upon anybody. If he could
not give the grfcat and curious lady a very
definite idea as to what the world was coming
to, he had managed without effort to impress
her by his unembittered faith, by the sterling
quality of his optimism.

A certain simplicity of thought is common to
serene souls at both ends of the social scale. The
great lady was simple in her own way. His views
and beliefs had nothing in them to shock or startle
her, since she judged them from the standpoint
of her lofty position. Indeed, her sympathies
were easily accessible to a man of that sort.
She was not an exploiting capitalist herself;
she was, as it were, above the play of economic
conditions. And she had a great capacity of
pity for the more obvious forms of common
human miseries, precisely because she was such

152 THE SECRET AGENT

a complete stranger to them that she had to
translate her conception into terms of mental
suffering before she could grasp the notion of
their cruelty. The Assistant Commissioner
remembered very well the conversation between
these two. He had listened in silence. It was
something as exciting in a way, and even touch-
ing in its foredoomed futility, as the efforts at
moral intercourse between the inhabitants of
remote planets. But this grotesque incarna-
tion of humanitarian passion appealed somehow,
to one's imagination. At last Michaelis rose,
and taking the great lady's extended hand,
shook it, retained it for a moment in his great
cushioned palm with unembarrassed friendliness,
and turned upon the semi-private nook of the
drawing-room his back, vast and square, and
as if distended under the short tweed jacket
Glancing about in serene benevolence, he
waddled along to the distant door between the
knots of other visitors. The murmur of con-
versations paused on his passage. He smiled
innocently at a tall, brilliant girl, whose eyes
met his accidentally, and went out unconscious
of the glances following him across the room.
Michaelis' first appearance in the world was a
success a success of esteem unmarred by a
single murmur of derision. The interrupted

THE SECRET AGENT 158

conversations were resumed in their proper
tone, grave or light Only a well-set-up, long-
limbed, active-looking man of forty talking with
two ladies near a window remarked aloud, with
an unexpected depth of feeling : " Eighteen
stone, I should say, and not five foot six. Poor
fellow ! It's terrible terrible."

The lady of the house, gazing absently at
the Assistant Commissioner, left alone with her
on the private side of the screen, seemed to be
rearranging her mental impressions behind her
thoughtful immobility of a handsome old face.
Men with grey moustaches and full, healthy,
vaguely smiling countenances approached, circ-
ling round the screen ; two mature women with
a matronly air of gracious resolution ; a clean-
shaved individual with sunken cheeks, and
dangling a gold-mounted eyeglass on a broad
black ribbon with an old-world, dandified effect.
A silence deferential, but full of reserves, reigned
for a moment, and then the great lady exclaimed,
not with resentment, but with a sort of protest-
ing indignation :

" And that officially is supposed to be a
revolutionist! What nonsense." She looked
hard at the Assistant Commissioner, who mur-
mured apologetically :

" Not a dangerous one perhaps."

154 THE SECRET AGENT

" Not dangerous I should think not indeed.
He is a mere believer. It's the temperament
of a saint," declared the great lady in a firm
tone. " And they kept him shut up for twenty
years. One shudders at the stupidity of it.
And now they have let him out everybody
belonging to him is gone away somewhere or
dead. His parents are dead ; the girl he was
to marry has died while he was in prison ; he
has lost the skill necessary for his manual
occupation. He told me all this himself
with the sweetest patience ; but then, he said,
he had had' plenty of time to think out
things for himself. A pretty compensation !
If that's the stuff revolutionists are made of
some of us may well go on their knees to
them," she continued in a slightly bantering
voice, while the banal society smiles hardened
on the worldly faces turned towards her with
conventional deference. " The poor creature
is obviously no longer in a position to take
care of himself. Somebody will have to look
after him a little. "

"He should be recommended to follow a
treatment of some sort," the soldierly voice of
the active-looking man was heard advising
earnestly from a distance. He was in the pink
of condition for his age, and even the texture

THE SECRET AGENT 155

of his long frock eoat had a character of elastic
soundness, as if it were a living tissue. " The
man is virtually a cripple," he added with un-
mistakable feeling.

Other voices, as if glad of the opening,
murmured hasty compassion. " Quite start-
ling," "Monstrous," "Most painful to see."
The lank man, with the eyeglass on a broad
ribbon, pronounced mincingly the word
" Grotesque," whose justness was appreciated
by those standing near him. They smiled at
each other.

The Assistant Commissioner had expressed
no opinion either then or later, his position
making it impossible for him to ventilate any
independent view of a ticket-of-leave convict.
But, in truth, he shared the view of his wife's
friend and patron that Michaelis was a humani-
tarian sentimentalist, a little mad, but upon the
whole incapable of hurting a fly intentionally.
So when that name cropped up suddenly in this
vexing bomb affair he realised all the danger
of it for the ticket-of-leave apostle, and his mind
reverted at once to the old lady's well-estab-
lished infatuation. Her arbitrary kindness
would not brook patiently any interference with
Michaelis' freedom. It was a deep, calm, con-
vinced infatuation. She had not only felt him

156 THE SECRET AGENT

to be inoffensive, but she had said so, which
last by a confusion of her absolutist mind be-
came a sort of incontrovertible demonstration.
It was as if the monstrosity of the man, with
his candid infant's eyes and a fat angelic smile,
had fascinated her. She had come to believe
almost his theory of the future, since it was
not repugnant to her prejudices. She disliked
the new element of plutocracy in the social
compound, and industrialism as a method of
human development appeared to her singularly
repulsive in its mechanical and unfeeling char-
acter. The humanitarian hopes of the mild
Michaelis tended not towards utter destruction,
but merely towards the complete economic ruin
of the system. And she did not really see where
was the moral harm of it. It would do away
with all the multitude of the "parvenus," whom
she disliked and mistrusted, not because they
had arrived anywhere (she denied that), but
because of their profound unintelligence of the
world, which was the primary cause of the crudity
of their perceptions and the aridity of their
hearts. With the annihilation of all capital they
would vanish too ; but universal ruin (providing
it was universal, as it was revealed to Michaelis)
would leave the social values untouched. The
disappearance of the last piece of money could

THE SECRET AGENT 157

not affect people of position. She could not
conceive how it could affect her position, for
instance. She had developed these discoveries
to the Assistant Commissioner with all the
serene fearlessness of an old woman who had
escaped the blight of indifference. He had
made for himself the rule to receive everything
of that sort in a silence which he took care from
policy and inclination not to make offensive.
He had an affection for the aged disciple of
Michaelis, a complex sentiment depending a
little on her prestige, on her personality, but
most of all on the instinct of flattered gratitude.
He felt himself really liked in her house. She
was kindness personified. And she was practi-
cally wise too, after the manner of experienced
women. She made his married life much
easier than it would have been without her
generously full recognition of his rights as
Annie's husband. Her influence upon his wife,
a woman devoured by all sorts of small selfish-
nesses, small envies, small jealousies, was
excellent. Unfortunately, both her kindness
and her wisdom were of unreasonable com-
plexion, distinctly feminine, and difficult to deal
with. She remained a perfect woman all along
her full tale of years, and not as some of them
do become a sort of slippery, pestilential old

158 THE SECRET AGENT

man in petticoats. And it was as of a woman
that he thought of her the specially choice
incarnation of the feminine, wherein is recruited
the tender, ingenuous, and fierce bodyguard
for all sorts of men who talk under the influ-
ence of an emotion, true or fradulent ; for
preachers, seers, prophets, or reformers.

Appreciating the distinguished and good
friend of his wife, and himself, in that way, the
Assistant Commissioner became alarmed at
the convict Michaelis' possible fate. Once
arrested on suspicion of being in some way,
however remote, a party to this outrage, the
man could hardly escape being sent back to
finish his sentence at least. And that would
kill him ; he would never come out alive.
The Assistant Commissioner made a re-
flection extremely unbecoming his official
position without being really creditable to his
humanity.

" If the fellow is laid hold of again," he
thought, " she will never forgive me."

The frankness of such a secretly outspoken
thought could not go without some derisive
self-criticism. No man engaged in a work he
does not like can preserve many saving illusions
about himself. The distaste, the absence of
glamour, extend from the occupation to the

THE SECRET AGENT 159

personality. It is only when our appointed
activities seem by a lucky accident to obey
the particular earnestness of our temperament
that we can taste the comfort of complete
self-deception. The Assistant Commissioner
did not like his work at home. The police
work he had been engaged on in a distant
part of the globe had the saving character of
an irregular sort of warfare or at least the risk
and excitement of open-air sport. His real abili-
ties, which were mainly of an administrative
order, were combined with an ad\ e iturous dis-
position. Chained to a desk in the thick of four
millions of men, he considered himself the victim
of an ironic fate the same, no doubt, which
had brought about his marriage with a woman
exceptionally sensitive in the matter of colonial
climate, besides other limitations testifying to the
delicacy of her nature and her tastes. Though
he judged his alarm sardonically he did not
dismiss the improper thought from his mind.
The instinct of self-preservation was strong
within him. On the contrary, he repeated it
mentally with profane emphasis and a fuller
precision : " Damn it ! If that infernal Heat
has his way the fellow'll die in prison smothered
in his fat, and she'll never forgive me."

His black, narrow figure, with the white band

160 THE SECRET AGENT

of the collar under the silvery gleams on the close-
cropped hair at the back of the head, remained
motionless. The silence had lasted such a long
time that Chief Inspector Heat ventured to
clear his throat. This noise produced its effect.
The zealous and intelligent officer was asked
by his superior, whose back remained turned to
him immovably :

"You connect Michaelis with this affair ? "

Chief Inspector Heat was very positive, but
cautious.

"Well, sir," he said, " we have enough to
go upon. A * man like that has no business
to be at large, anyhow."

"You will want some conclusive evidence/*
came the observation in a murmur.

Chief Inspector Heat raised his eyebrows at
the black, narrow back, which remained obstin-
ately presented to his intelligence and his zeal.

" There will be no difficulty in getting up
sufficient evidence against Aim," he said, with
virtuous complacency. " You may trust me
for that, sir/' he added, quite unnecessarily,
out of the fulness of his heart ; for it seemed to
him an excellent thing to have that man in hand
to be thrown down to the public should it think
fit to roar with any special indignation in this
case. It was impossible to say yet whether it

THE SECRET AGENT 161

would roar or not. That in the last instance de-
pended, of course, on the newspaper press. But
in any case, Chief Inspector Heat, purveyor of
prisons by trade, and a man of legal instincts,
did logically believe that incarceration was the
proper fate for every declared enemy of the
law, In the strength of that conviction he
committed a fault of tact. He allowed himself
a little conceited laugh, and repeated :

" Trust me for that, sir."

This was too much for the forced calmness
under which the Assistant Commissioner had for
upwards of eighteen months concealed his irri-
tation with the system and the subordinates of
his office. A square peg forced into a round
hole, he had felt like a daily outrage that long
established smooth roundness into which a
man of less sharply angular shape would have
fitted himself, with voluptuous acquiescence,
after a shrug or two. What he resented most
was just the necessity of taking so much on trust.
At the little laugh of Chief Inspector Heat's he
spun swiftly on his heels, as if whirled away
from the window-pane by an electric shock.
He caught on the latter's face not only the
complacency proper to the occasion lurking
under the moustache, but the vestiges of ex-
perimental watchfulness in the round eyes,
L

162 THE SECRET AGENT

which had been, no doubt, fastened on his back,
and now met his glance for a second before
the intent character of their stare had the time
to change to a merely startled appearance.

The Assistant Commissioner of Police had
really some qualifications for his post Sud-
denly his suspicion was awakened. It is but
fair to say that his suspicions of the police
methods (unless the police happened to be a
semi-military body organised by himself) was
not difficult to arouse. If it ever slumbered
from sheer weariness, it was but lightly ; and
his appreciation of Chief Inspector Heat's zeal
and ability, moderate in itself, excluded all
notion of moral confidence. " He's up to some-
thing," he exclaimed mentally, and at once be-
came angry. Crossing over to his desk with
headlong strides, he sat down violently. " Here
I am stuck in a litter of paper/' he reflected,
with unreasonable resentment, "supposed to
hold all the threads in my hands, and yet I can
but hold what is put in my hand, and nothing
else. And they can fasten the other ends of
the threads where they please/'

He raised his head, and turned towards his
subordinate a long, meagre face with the accen-
tuated features of an energetic Don Quixote.

44 Now what is it you've got up your sleeve ? "

THE SECRET AGENT 163

The other stared He stared without wink-
ing in a perfect immobility of his round eyes,
as he was used to stare at the various members
of the criminal class when, after being duly
cautioned, they made their statements in the
tones of injured innocence, or false simplicity,
or sullen resignation. But behind that profes-
sional and stony fixity there was some surprise
too, for in such a tone, combining nicely the note
of contempt and impatience, Chief Inspector
Heat, the right-hand man of the department,
was not used to be addressed. He began in
a procrastinating manner, like a man taken un-
awares by a new and unexpected experience.

"What I've got against that man Michaelis
you mean, sir ? "

The Assistant Commissioner watched the
bullet head ; the points of that Norse rover's
moustache, falling below the line of the heavy
jaw ; the whole full and pale physiognomy, whose
determined character was marred by too much
flesh ; at the cunning wrinkles radiating from
the outer corners of the eyes and in that
purposeful contemplation of the valuable and
trusted officer he drew a conviction so sudden
that it moved him like an inspiration.

" I have reason to think that when you came
into this room/' he said in measured tones, "it

164 THE SECRET AGENT

was not Michaelis who was in yoar mind ; not
principally perhaps not at all."

"You have reason to think, sir ?" muttered
Chief Inspector Heat, with every appearance of
astonishment, which up to a certain point was
genuine enough. He had discovered in this
affair a delicate and perplexing side, forcing
upon the discoverer a certain amount of insin-
cerity that sort of insincerity which, under the
names of skill, prudence, discretion, turns up at
one point or another in most human affairs.
He felt at the moment like a tight-rope artist
might feel if suddenly, in the middle of the per-
formance, the manager of the Music Hall were
to rush out of the proper managerial seclusion
and begin to shake the rope. Indignation, the
sense of moral insecurity engendered by such
a treacherous proceeding joined to the im-
mediate apprehension of a broken neck, would,
in the colloquial phrase, put him in a state.
And there would be also some scandalised con-
cern for his art too, since a man must identify
himself with something more tangible than his
own personality, and establish his pride some-
where, either in his social position, or in the
quality of the work he is obliged to do, or
simply in the superiority of the idleness he may
be fortunate enough to enjoy.

THE SECRET AGENT 165

" Yes/* said the Assistant Commissioner ; " I
have. I do not mean to say that you have not
thought of Michaelis at all. But you are giving
the fact you've mentioned a prominence which
strikes me as not quite candid, Inspector Heat.
If that is really the track of discovery, why
haven't you followed it up at once, either per-
sonally or by sending one of your men to that
village ? "

" Do you think, sir, I have failed in my duty
there?" the Chief Inspector asked, in a tone
which he sought to make simply reflective.
Forced unexpectedly to concentrate his faculties
upon the task of preserving his balance, he had
seized upon that point, and exposed himself to a
rebuke ; for, the Assistant Commissioner frown-
ing slightly, observed that this was a very
improper remark to make.

" But since you've made it," he continued
coldly, " I'll tell you that this is not my mean-
ing."

He paused, with a straight glance of his
sunken eyes which was a full equivalent of the
unspoken termination "and you know it."
The head of the so-called Special Crimes
Department debarred by his position from
going out of doors personally in quest of
secrets locked up in guilty breasts, had a

166 THE SECRET AGENT

propensity to exercise his considerable gifts
for the detection of incriminating truth upon
his own subordinates. That peculiar instinct
could hardly be called a weakness. It was
natural. He was a born detective. It had
unconsciously governed his choice of a career,
and if it ever failed him in life it was perhaps
in the one exceptional circumstance of his
marriage which was also natural. It fed,
since it could not roam abroad, upon the
human material which was brought to it in its
official seclusion. We can never cease to be
ourselves.

His elbow on the desk, his thin legs crossed,
and nursing his cheek in the palm of his meagre
hand, the Assistant Commissioner in charge of
the Special Crimes branch was getting hold of
the case with growing interest. His Chief
Inspector, if not an absolutely worthy foeman
of his penetration, was at anyrate the most
worthy of all within his reach. A mistrust of
established reputations was strictly in character
with the Assistant Commissioner's ability as
detector. His memory evoked a certain old
fat and wealthy native chief in the distant
colony whom it was a tradition for the succes-
sive Colonial Governors to trust and make much
of as a firm friend and supporter of the order

THE SECRET AGENT 167

and legality established by white men ; where-
as, when examined sceptically, he was found out
to be principally his own good friend, and
nobody else's. Not precisely a traitor, but still
a man of many dangerous reservations in his
fidelity, caused by a due regard for his own
advantage, comfort, and safety. A fellow of
some innocence in his naive duplicity, but none
the less dangerous. He took some finding out.
He was physically a big man, too, and (allowing
for the difference of colour, of course) Chief
Inspector Heat's appearance recalled him to the
memory of his superior. It was not the eyes
nor yet the lips exactly. It was bizarre. But
does not Alfred Wallace relate in his famous
book on the Malay Archipelago how, amongst
the Aru Islanders, he discovered in an old and
naked savage with a sooty skin a peculiar re-
semblance to a dear friend at home ?

For the first time since he took up his ap-
pointment the Assistant Commissioner felt as
if he were going to do some real work for his
salary. And that was a pleasurable sensation.
44 I'll turn him inside out like an old glove,"
thought the Assistant Commissioner, with his
eyes resting pensively upon Chief Inspector
Heat.

" No, that was not my thought/' he began

168 THE SECRET AGENT

again. " There is no doubt about you knowing
your business no doubt at all ; and that's

precisely why I " He stopped short, and

changing his tone: "What could you bring up
against Michaelis of a definite nature ? I mean
apart from the fact that the two men under sus-
picion you're certain there were two of them
came last from a railway station within three
miles of the village where Michaelis is living
now."

" This by itself is enough for us to go upon,
sir, with that sort of man," said the Chief In-
spector, with returning composure. The slight
approving movement of the Assistant Com-
missioner's head went far to pacify the resentful
astonishment of the renowned officer. For
Chief Inspector Heat was a kind man, an
excellent husband, a devoted father ; and the
public and departmental confidence he enjoyed
acting favourably upon an amiable nature, dis-
posed him to feel friendly towards the successive
Assistant Commissioners he had seen pass
through that very room. There had been
three in his time. The first one, a soldierly,
abrupt, red-faced person, with white eyebrows
and an explosive temper, could be managed
with a silken thread. He left on reaching the
age limit. The second, a perfect gentleman,

THE SECRET AGENT 169

knowing his own and everybody else's place to
a nicety, on resigning to take up a higher ap-
pointment out of England got decorated for
(really) Inspector Heat's services. To work with
him had been a pride and a pleasure. The third,
a bit of a dark horse from the first, was at the
end of eighteen months something of a dark
horse still to the department. Upon the whole
Chief Inspector Heat believed him to be in the
main harmless odd-looking, but harmless,
He was speaking now, and the Chief Inspector
listened with outward deference (which means
nothing, being a matter of duty) and inwardly
with benevolent toleration.

" Michaelis reported himself before leaving
London for the country?"

"Yes, sir. He did."

" And what may he be doing there ? " continued
the Assistant Commissioner, who was perfectly
informed on that point. Fitted with painful
tightness into an old wooden arm-chair, before a
worm-eaten oak table in an upstairs room of a
four-roomed cottage with a roof of moss-grown
tiles, Michaelis was writing night and day in
a shaky, slanting hand that " Autobiography
of a Prisoner " which was to be like a book
of Revelation in the history of mankind. The
conditions of confined space, seclusion, and soli-

170 THE SECRET AGENT

tude in a small four-roomed cottage were favour-
able to his inspiration. It was like being in
prison, except that one was never disturbed for
the "odious purpose of taking exercise according
to the tyrannical regulations of his old home in
the penitentiary. He could not tell whether the
sun still shone on the earth or not. The per-
spiration of the literary labour dropped from his
brow. A delightful enthusiasm urged him on.
It was the liberation of his inner life, the letting
out of his soul into the wide world. And the
zeal of his guileless vanity (first awakened by the
offer of five 'hundred pounds from a publisher)
seemed something predestined and holy.

"It would be, of course, most desirable to be
informed exactly," insisted the Assistant Com-
missioner uncandidly.

Chief Inspector Heat, conscious of renewed
irritation at this display of scrupulousness, said
that the county police had been notified from
the first of Michaelis' arrival, and that a full re-
port could be obtained in a few hours. A wire
to the superintendent

Thus he spoke, rather slowly, while his mind
seemed already to be weighing the conse-
quences. A slight knitting of the brow was the
outward sign of this. But he was interrupted
by a question.

tHE SECRET AGENt 171

" You've sent that wire already ? "

" No, sir," he answered, as if surprised.

The Assistant Commissioner uncrossed his
legs suddenly. The briskness of that move-
ment contrasted with the casual way in which
he threw out a suggestion.

"Would you think that Michaelis had any-
thing to do with the preparation of that bomb,
for instance ? "

The Chief Inspector assumed a reflective
manner.

" I wouldn't say so. There's no necessity to
say anything at present. He associates with
men who are classed as dangerous. He was
made a delegate of the Red Committee less
than a year after his release on licence. A sort
of compliment, I suppose."

And the Chief Inspector laughed a little
angrily, a little scornfully. With a man of
that sort scrupulousness was a misplaced and
even an illegal sentiment. The celebrity
bestowed upon Michaelis on his release two
years ago by some emotional journalists in
want of special copy had rankled ever since in
his breast. It was perfectly legal to arrest
that man on the barest suspicion. It was legal
and expedient on the face of it His two former
chiefs would have seen the point at once ; where-

172 THE SECRET AGENT

as this one, without saying either yes or no, sat
there, as if lost in a dream. Moreover, besides
being legal and expedient, the arrest of
Michaelis solved a little personal difficulty
which worried Chief Inspector Heat somewhat.
This difficulty had its bearing upon his
reputation, upon his comfort, and even upon
the efficient performance of his duties. For,
if Michaelis no doubt knew something about
this outrage, the Chief Inspector was fairly
certain that he did not know too much. This
was just as well. He knew much less the
Chief Inspector was positive than certain
other individuals he had in his mind, but whose
arrest seemed to him inexpedient, besides being
a more complicated matter, on account of the
rules of the game. The rules of the game did
not protect so much Michaelis, who was an ex-
convict. It would be stupid not to take advan-
tage of legal facilities, and the journalists who
had written him up with emotional gush would
be ready to write him down with emotional
indignation.

This prospect, viewed with confidence, had
the attraction of a personal triumph for Chief
Inspector Heat. And deep down in his blame-
less bosom of an average married citizen, almost
unconscious but potent nevertheless, the dislike

THE SECRET AGENT 173

of being compelled by events to meddle with
the desperate ferocity of the Professor had its
say. This dislike had been strengthened by
the chance meeting in the lane. The encounter
did not leave behind with Chief Inspector
Heat that satisfactory sense of superiority the
members of the police force get from the un-
official but intimate side of their intercourse
with the criminal classes, by which the vanity
of power is soothed, and the vulgar love of
domination over our fellow-creatures is flattered
as worthily as it deserves.

The perfect anarchist was not recognised as
a fellow-creature by Chief Inspector Heat. He
was impossible a mad dog to be left alone.
Not that the Chief Inspector was afraid of him ;
on the contrary, he meant to have him some
day. But not yet ; he meant to get hold of
him in his own time, properly and effectively
according to the rules of the game. The present
was not the right time for attempting that feat,
not the right time for many reasons, personal
and of public service. This being the strong
feeling of Inspector Heat, it appeared to him
just and proper that this affair should be
shunted off its obscure and inconvenient track,
leading goodness knows where, into a quiet
(and lawful) siding called Michaelis, And he

174 THE SECRET AGENT

repeated, as if reconsidering the suggestion
conscientiously :

"The bomb No, I would not say that
exactly. We may never find that out. But
it's clear that he is connected with this in some
way, which we can find out without much
trouble."

His countenance had that look of grave,
overbearing indifference once well known and
much dreaded by the better sort of thieves,
Chief Inspector Heat, though what is called a
man, was not a smiling animal But his inward
state was that of satisfaction at the passively re-
ceptive attitude of the Assistant Commissioner,
who murmured gently ;

" And you really think that the investigation
should be made in that direction ? "

" I do, sir."

" Quite convinced ?

" I am, sir. That's the true line for us to take."

The Assistant Commissioner withdrew the
support of his hand from his reclining head
with a suddenness that, considering his languid
attitude, seemed to menace his whole person
with collapse. But, on the contrary, he sat up,
extremely alert, behind the great writing-table
on which his hand had fallen with the sound of
a sharp blow.

THE SECRET AGENT 175

"What I want to know is what put it out
of your head till now."

" Put it out of my head," repeated the Chief
Inspector very slowly.

"Yes. Till you were called into this room
you know."

The Chief Inspector felt as if the air between
his clothing and his skin had become un-
pleasantly hot It was the sensation of an un-
precedented and incredible experience.

" Of course," he said, exaggerating the de-
liberation of his utterance to the utmost
limits of possibility, "if there is a reason,
of which I know nothing, for not interfering
with the convict Michaelis, perhaps it's just
as well I didn't start the county police after
him."

This took such a long time to say that the
unflagging attention of the Assistant Com-
missioner seemed a wonderful feat of endur-
ance. His retort came without delay.

" No reason whatever that I know of. Come,
Chief Inspector, this finessing with me is highly
improper on your part highly improper.
And it's also unfair, you know. You shouldn't
leave me to puzzle things out for myself like
this, Really, I am surprised."

He paused, then added smoothly : " I need

176 THE SECRET AGENT

scarcely tell you that this conversation is
altogether unofficial."

These words were far from pacifying the
Chief Inspector. The indignation of a be-
trayed tight-rope performer was strong within
him. In his pride of a trusted servant he was
affected by the assurance that the rope was
not shaken for the purpose of breaking his
neck, as by an exhibition of impudence. As
if anybody were afraid! Assistant Com-
missioners come and go, but a valuable Chief
Inspector is not an ephemeral office phenome-
non. He was not afraid of getting a broken
neck. To have his performance spoiled was
more than enough to account for the glow of
honest indignation. And as thought is no
respecter of persons, the thought of Chief
Inspector Heat took a threatening and pro-
phetic shape. " You, my boy/' he said to
himself, keeping his round and habitually roving
eyes fastened upon the Assistant Commissioner's
face "you, my boy, you don't know your place,
and your place won't know you very long
either, I bet."

As if in provoking answer to that thought,
something like the ghost of an amiable smile
passed on the lips of the Assistant Commissioner.
His manner was easy and business-like while he

THE SECRET AGENT 177

persisted in administering another shake to the
tight rope.

41 Let us come now to what you have dis-
covered on the spot, Chief Inspector," he said

" A fool and his job are soon parted," went
on the train of prophetic thought in Chief
Inspector Heat's head. But it was immediately
followed by the reflection that a higher official,
even when " fired out" (this was the precise
image), has still the time as he flies through the
door to launch a nasty kick at the shin-bones of
a subordinate. Without softening very much the
basilisk nature of his stare, he said impassively:

" We are coming to that part of my investiga-
tion, sir."

"That's right. Well, what have you
brought away from it ? "

The Chief Inspector, who had made up his
mind to jump off the rope, came to the ground
with gloomy frankness.

"I've brought away an address," he said,
pulling out of his pocket without haste a
singed rag of dark blue cloth. "This belongs
to the overcoat the fellow who got himself blown
to pieces was wearing. Of course, the overcoat
may not have been his, and may even have
been stolen. But that's not at all probable if
you look at this,"

178 THE SECRET AGENT

The Chief Inspector, stepping up to the table,
smoothed out carefully the rag of blue cloth.
He had picked it up from the repulsive heap in
the mortuary, because a tailor's name is found
sometimes under the collar. It is not often of

much use, but still He only half expected

to find anything useful, but certainly he did not
expect to find not under the collar at all, but
stitched carefully on the under side of the
lapel a square piece of calico with an address
written on it in marking ink.

The Chief Inspector removed his smoothing
hand.

"I carried it off with me without anybody
taking notice/' he said. "I thought it best
It can always be produced if required."

The Assistant Commissioner, rising a little
in his chair, pulled the cloth over to his side of
the table. He sat looking at it in silence.
Only the number 32 and the name of Brett
Street were written in marking ink on a piece
of calico slightly larger than an ordinary cigar-
ette paper. He was genuinely surprised.

" Can't understand why he should have gone
about labelled like this," he said, looking up at
Chief Inspector Heat. " It's a most extraordin-
ary thing."

"I met once in the smoking-room of a

THE SECRET AGENT 179

hotel an old gentleman who went about with
his name and address sewn on in all his coats
in case of an accident or sudden illness/' said
the Chief Inspector. " He professed to be
eighty-four years old, but he didn't look his age.
He told me he was also afraid of losing his
memory suddenly, like those people he has been
reading of in the papers."

A question from the Assistant Commis-
sioner, who wanted to know what was No. 32
Brett Street, interrupted that reminiscence
abruptly. The Chief Inspector, driven down
to the ground by unfair artifices, had elected
to walk the path of unreserved openness. If
he believed firmly that to know too much was
not good for the department, the judicious hold-
ing back of knowledge was as far as his loyalty
dared to go for the good of the service. If the
Assistant Commissioner wanted to mismanage
this affair nothing, of course, could prevent
him. But, on his own part, he now saw no
reason for a display of alacrity. So he answered
concisely :

" It's a shop, sir.

The Assistant Commissioner, with his eyes
lowered on the rag of blue cloth, waited for
more information. As that did not come he
proceeded to obtain it by a series of questions

180 THE SECRET AGENT

propounded with gentle patience. Thus he
acquired an idea of the nature of Mr Verloc's
commerce, of his personal appearance, and
heard at last his name. In a pause the Assis-
tant Commissioner raised his eyes, and dis-
covered some animation on the Chief Inspector's
face. They looked at each other in silence.

"Of course," said the latter, " the department
has no record of that man. 1 '

"Did any of my predecessors have any
knowledge of what you have told me now ? "
asked the Assistant Commissioner, putting his
elbows on the table and raising his joined hands
before his face, as if about to offer prayer, only
that his eyes had not a pious expression.

" No, sir ; certainly not. What would have
been the object ? That sort of man could never
be produced publicly to any good purpose. It
was sufficient for me to know who he was, and
to make use of him in a way that could be used
publicly."

"And do you think that sort of private
knowledge consistent with the official position
you occupy ? "

" Perfectly, sir. I think it's quite proper. I
will take the liberty to tell you, sir, that it makes
me what I am and I am looked .upon as a man
who knows his work. It's a private affair of my

THE SECRET AGENT 181

own. A personal friend of mine in the French
police gave me the hint that the fellow was an
Embassy spy. Private friendship, private in-
formation, private use of it that's how I look
upon it"

The Assistant Commissioner after remarking
to himself that the mental state of the renowned
Chief Inspector seemed to affect the outline of
his lower jaw, as if the lively sense of his high
professional distinction had been located in that
part of his anatomy, dismissed the point for the
moment with a calm " I see/' Then leaning
his cheek on his joined hands :

" Well then speaking privately if you like
how long have you been in private touch with
this Embassy spy?"

To this inquiry the private answer of the
Chief Inspector, so private that it was never
shaped into audible words, was :

" Long before you were even thought of for
your place here."

The so-to-speak public utterance was much
more precise.

" I saw him for the first time in my life a little
more than seven years ago, when two Imperial
Highnesses and the Imperial Chancellor were
on a visit here. I was put in charge of all the
arrangements for looking after them. Baron

182 THE SECRET AGENT

Stott-Wartenheim was Ambassador then. He
was a very nervous old gentleman. One evening,
three days before the G jildhall Banquet, he sent
word that he wanted to see me for a moment.
I was downstairs, and the carriages were at the
door to take the Imperial Highnesses and the
Chancellor to the opera. I went up at once. I
found the Baron walking up and down his bed-
room in a pitiable state of distress, squeezing
his hands together. He assured me he had
the fullest confidence in our police and in my
abilities, but he had there a man just come over
from Paris whose information could be trusted
implicity. He wanted me to hear what that man
had to say. He took me at once into a dressing-
room next door, where I saw a big fellow in a
heavy overcoat sitting all alone on a chair, and
holding his hat and stick in one hand. The Baron
said to him in French ' Speak, my friend/ The
light in that room was not very good. I talked
with him for some five minutes perhaps. He
certainly gave me a piece of very startling news.
Then the Baron took me aside nervously to praise
him up to me, and when I turned round again I dis-
covered that the fellow had vanished like a ghost.
Got up and sneaked out down some back stairs, I
suppose. There was no time to run after him, as
I had to hurry off after the Ambassador down the

THE SECRET AGftNT 183

great staircase, and see the party started safe
for the opera. However, I acted upon the in-
formation that very night. Whether it was
perfectly correct or not, it did look serious enough.
Very likely it saved us from an ugly trouble on
the day of the Imperial visit to the City.

"Some time later, a month or so after my
promotion to Chief Inspector, my attention was
attracted to a big burly man, I thought I had
seen somewhere before, coming out in a hurry
from a jeweller's shop in the Strand. I went after
him, as it was on my way towards Charing Cross,
and there seeing one of our detectives across the
road, I beckoned him over, and pointed out the
fellowto him, with instructions towatchhismove-
ments for a couple of days, and then report to
me. No later than next afternoon my man turned
up to tell me that the fellow had married his
landlady's daughter at a registrar's office that
very day at 11.30 A.M., and had gone off with
her to Margate for a week. Our man had seen
the luggage being put on the cab. There were
some old Paris labels on one of the bags.
Somehow I couldn't get the fellow out of my
head, and the very next time I had to go to
Paris on service I spoke about him to that
friend of mine in the Paris police. My friend
said : * From what you tell me I think you

184 THE SECRET* AGENtf

must mean a rather well-known hanger-on and
emissary of the Revolutionary Red Committee.
He says he is an Englishman by birth. We have
an idea that he has been for a good few years now
a secret agent of one of the foreign Embassies
in London/ This woke up my memory com-
pletely. He was the vanishing fellow I saw
sitting on a chair in Baron Stott-Wartenheim's
bathroom. I told my friend that he was quite
right. The fellow was a secret agent to my
certain knowledge. Afterwards my friend took
the trouble to ferret out the complete record of
that man for me. I thought I had better know
all there was to know ; but I don't suppose you
want to hear his history now, sir ? "

The Assistant Commisioner shook his sup-
ported head. "The history of your relations
with that useful personage is the only thing that
matters just now," he said, closing slowly his
weary, deep-set eyes, and then opening them
swiftly with a greatly refreshed glance.

" There's nothing official about them," said
the Chief Inspector bitterly. " I went into his
shop one evening, told him who I was, and re-
minded him of our first meeting. He didn't as
much as twitch an eyebrow. He said that he was
married and settled now, and that all he wanted
was not to be interfered in his little business.

THE SECRET AGENT 185

I took it upon myself to promise him that, as
long as he didn't go in for anything obviously
outrageous, he would be left alone by the police.
That was worth something to him, because a
word from us to the Custom- House people would
have been enough to get some of these packages
he gets from Paris and Brussels opened in
Dover, with confiscation to follow for certain,
and perhaps a prosecution as well at the end of it"

41 That's a very precarious trade/' murmured
the Assistant Commissioner. "Why did he
go in for that ? "

The Chief Inspector raised scornful eye-
brows dispassionately.

"Most likely got a connection friends on
the Continent amongst people who deal in
such wares. They would be just the sort he
would consort with. He's a lazy dog, too
like the rest of them."

"What do you get from him in exchange
for your protection ? "

The Chief Inspector was not inclined to en-
large on the value of Mr Verloc's services.

"He would not be much good to anybody but
myself. One has got to know a good deal before-
hand to make use of a man like that. I can under-
stand the sort of hint he can give. And when
I want a hint he can generally furnish it to me."

186 THE SECRET AGENT

The Chief Inspector lost himself suddenly in
a discreet reflective mood; and the Assistant
Commissioner repressed a smile at the fleeting
thought that the reputation of Chief Inspector
Heat might possibly have been made in a great
part by the Secret Agent Verloc.

" In a more general way of being of use, all
our men of the Special Crimes section on duty at
Charing Cross and Victoria have orders to take
careful notice of anybody they may see with him.
He meets the new arrivals frequently, and after-
wards keeps track of them. He seems to have
been told off for that sort of duty. When I want
an address in a hurry, I can always get it from
him. Of course, I know how to manage our
relations. I haven't seen him to speak to
three times in the last two years. I drop him
a line, unsigned, and he answers me in the same
way at my private address."

From time to time the Assistant Commis-
sioner gave an almost imperceptible nod. The
Chief Inspector added that he did not suppose
Mr Verloc to be deep in the confidence of the
prominent members of the Revolutionary Inter-
national Council, but that he was generally
trusted of that there could be no doubt.
" Whenever I've had reason to think there
was something in the wind," he concluded,

THE SECRET AGENT 187

" I've always found he could tell me something
worth knowing."

The Assistant Commissioner made a signifi-
cant remark.

"He failed you this time."

" Neither had I wind of anything in any
other way," retorted Chief Inspector Heat. " I
asked him nothing, so he could tell me nothing.
He isn't one of our men. It isn't as if he were
in our pay."

" No," muttered the Assistant Commis-
sioner. " He's a spy in the pay of a foreign
government We could never confess to him."

" I must do my work in my own way," de-
clared the Chief Inspector. "When it comes
to that I would deal with the devil himself, and
take the consequences. There are things not
fit for everybody to know."

"Your idea of secrecy seems to consist in
keeping the chief of your department in the
dark. That's stretching it perhaps a little too
far, isn't it ? He lives over his shop ? "

" Who Verloc ? Oh yes. He lives over his
shop. The wife's mother, I fancy, lives with
them."

" Is the house watched ? "

"Oh dear, no. It wouldn't do. Certain
people who come there are watched. My

188 THE SECRET AGENT

opinion is that he knows nothing of this
affair."

" How do you account for this ? " The
Assistant Commissioner nodded at the cloth
rag lying before him on the table,

" I don't account for it at all, sir. It's simply
unaccountable. It can't be explained by what I
know." The Chief Inspector made those ad-
missions with the frankness of a man whose
reputation is established as if on a rock. " At
anyrate not at this present moment. I think
that the man who had most to do with it will
turn out to be -Michaelis."

"You do?*

" Yes, sir ; because I can answer for all the
others."

"What about that other man supposed to
have escaped from the park ? "

" I should think he's far away by this time,"
opined the Chief Inspector.

The Assistant Commissioner looked hard at
him, and rose suddenly, as though having made
up his mind to some course of action. As a
matter of fact, he had that very moment suc-
cumbed to a fascinating temptation. The Chief
Inspector heard himself dismissed with instruc-
tions to meet his superior early next morning
for further consultation upon the case. He

THE SECRET AGENT 189

listened with an impenetrable face, and walked
out of the room with measured steps.

Whatever might have been the plans of the
Assistant Commissioner they had nothing to do
with that desk work, which was the bane of his
existence because of its confined nature and
apparent lack of reality. It could not have had,
or else the general air of alacrity that came upon
the Assistant Commissioner would have been in-
explicable. As soon as he was left alone he looked
for his hat impulsively, and put it on his head.
Having done that, he sat down again to recon-
sider the whole matter. But as his mind was
already made up, this did not take long. And
before Chief Inspector Heat had gone very far
on the way home, he also left the building

VII

Assistant Commissioner walked along
a short and narrow street like a wet, muddy
trench, then crossing a very broad thorough-
fare entered a public edifice, and sought speech
with a young private secretary (unpaid) of a
great personage.

This fair, smooth-faced young man, whose
symmetrically- arranged hair gave him the air
of a large and neat schoolboy, met the Assistant
Commissioner's request with a doubtful look,
and spoke with bated breath

" Would he see you t I don't know about that.
He has walked over from the House an hour ago
to talk with the permanent Under-Secretary, and
now he's ready to walk back again. He might
have sent for him ; but he does it for the sake of
a little exercise, I suppose. It's all the exercise
he can find time for while this session lasts. I
don't complain ; I rather enjoy these little
strolls. He leans on my arm, and doesn't open,
his lips. But, I say, he's very tired, and well
not in the sweetest of tempers just now."

" It's in connection with that Greenwich affair."

190

THF, SECRET AGENT 191

"Oh! I say! He's very bitter against you
people. But I will go and see, if you insist."

" Do. That's a good fellow/ 1 said the Assist-
ant Commissioner.

The unpaid secretary admired this pluck.
Composing for himself an innocent face, he
opened a door, and went in with the assurance of
a nice and privileged child. And presently he
reappeared, with a nod to the Assistant Com-
missioner, who passing through the same door
left open for him, found himself with the great
personage in a large room.

Vast in bulk and stature, with a long white
face, which, broadened at the base by a big
double chin, appeared egg-shaped in the fringe
of thin greyish whisker, the great personage
seemed an expanding man. Unfortunate from
a tailoring point of view, the cross-folds in the
middle of a buttoned black coat added to the
impression, as if the fastenings of the garment
were tried to the utmost. From the head, set
upward on a thick neck, the eyes, with puffy
lower lids, stared with a haughty droop on
each side of a hooked aggressive nose, nobly
salient in the vast pale circumference of the
face. A shiny silk hat and a pair of worn
gloves lying ready on the end of a long table
looked expanded too, enormous,

192 THE SECRET AGENT

He stood on the hearthrug in big, roomy
boots, and uttered no word of greeting.

" I would like to know if this is the beginning
of another dynamite campaign/' he asked at
once in a deep, very smooth voice. " Don t go
into details. I have no time for that."

The Assistant Commissioner's figure before
this big and rustic Presence had the trail
slenderness of a reed addresssing an oak.
And indeed the unbroken record of that man's
descent surpassed in the number of centuries
the age of the oldest oak in the country.

" No. As- far as one can be positive
about anything I can assure you that it is
not."

"Yes. But your idea of assurances over
there/' said the great man, with a contemptuous
wave of his hand towards a window giving
on the broad thoroughfare, " seems to consist
mainly in making the Secretary of State look
a fool. I have been told positively in this
very room less than a month ago that nothing
of the sort was even possible."

The Assistant Commissioner glanced in the
direction of the window calmly.

" You will allow me to remark, Sir Ethelred,
that so far I have had no opportunity to give
you assurances of any kind/'

THE SECRET AGENT 193

The haughty droop of the eyes was focussed
now upon the Assistant Commissioner.

" True," confessed the deep, smooth voice.
" I sent for Heat You are still rather a novice
in your new berth. And how are you getting
on over there ? "

" I believe I am learning something every
day."

" Of course, of course. I hope you will
get on."

"Thank you, Sir Ethelred. I've learned
something to-day, and even within the last hour
or so. There is much in this affair of a kind
that does not meet the eye in a usual anarchist
outrage, even if one looked into it as deep as
can be. That's why I am here."

The great man put his arms akimbo, the
backs of his big hands resting on his hips.

"Very well. Go on. Only no details, pray.
Spare me the details."

" You shall not be troubled with them, Sir
Ethelred," the Assistant Commissioner began,
with a calm and untroubled assurance. While
he was speaking the hands on the face of the
clock behind the great man's back a heavy,
glistening affair of massive scrolls in the same
dark marble as the mantelpiece, and with a
ghostly, evanescent tick had moved through

194 THE SECRET AGENT

the space of seven minutes. He spoke with a
studious fidelity to a parenthetical manner, into
which every little fact that is, every detail
fitted with delightful ease. Not a murmur nor
even a movement hinted at interruption. The
great Personage might have been the statue of
one of his own princely ancestors stripped of a
crusader's war harness, and put into an ill-fitting
frock coat. The Assistant Commissioner felt as
though he were at liberty to talk for an hour.
But he kept his head, and at the end of the
time mentioned above he broke off with a
sudden conclusion, which, reproducing the open-
ing statement, pleasantly surprised Sir Ethelred
by its apparent swiftness and force.

"The kind of thing which meets us under
the surface of this affair, otherwise without
gravity, is unusual in this precise form at
least and requires special treatment/ 1

The tone of Sir Ethelred was deepened, full
of conviction.

" I should think so involving the Am-
bassador of a foreign power ! "

"Oh! The Ambassador!" protested the
other, erect and slender, allowing himself a
mere half smile. " It would be stupid of me
to advance anything of the kind. And it is
absolutely unnecessary, because if I am right

THE SECRET AGENT 195

in my surmises, whether ambassador or hall
porter it's a mere detail."

Sir Ethelred opened a wide mouth, like a
cavern, into which the hooked nose seemed
anxious to peer ; there came from it a subdued
rolling sound, as from a distant organ with the
scornful indignation stop.

"No! These people are too impossible.
What do they mean by importing their methods
of Crim-Tartary here ? A Turk would have
more decency."

" You forget, Sir Ethelred, that strictly speak-
ing we know nothing positively as yet."

" No ! But how would you define it ?
Shortly?"

" Barefaced audacity amounting to childish-
ness of a peculiar sort."

"We can't put up with the innocence of nasty
little children," said the great and expanded
personage, expanding a little more, as it were.
The haughty drooping glance struck crushingly
the carpet at the Assistant Commissioner's
feet. " They'll have to get a hard rap on the
knuckles over this affair. We must be in a

position to What is your general idea,

stated shortly ? No need to go into details."

"No, Sir Ethelred. In principle, I should
lay it down that the existence of secret agents

196 THE SECRET AGENT

should not be tolerated, as tending to augment
the positive dangers of the evil against which
they are used. That the spy will fabricate his
information is a mere commonplace. But in
the sphere of political and revolutionary action,
relying partly on violence, the professional spy
has every facility to fabricate the very facts
themselves, and will spread the double evil of
emulation in one direction, and of panic, hasty
legislation, unreflecting hate, on the other.
However, this is an imperfect world "

The deep-voiced Presence on the hearthrug,
motionless, with big elbows stuck out, said
hastily :

" Be lucid, please."

"Yes, Sir Ethelred An imperfect

world. Therefore directly the character of this
affair suggested itself to me, I thought it should
be dealt with with special secrecy, and ventured
to come over here."

" That's right," approved the great Person-
age, glancing down complacently over his
double chin. "I am glad there's somebody
over at your shop who thinks that the Secre-
tary of State may be trusted now and then."

The Assistant Commissioner had an amused
smile.

" I was really thinking that it might be

THE SECRET AGENT 197

better at this stage for Heat to be replaced

by "

"What! Heat? An ass eh? " exclaimed the
great man, with distinct animosity.

" Not at all. Pray, Sir Ethelred, don't put
that unjust interpretation on my remarks."
" Then what ? Too clever by half ? "
" Neither at least not as a rule. All the
grounds of my surmises I have from him.
The only thing I've discovered by myself is
that he has been making use of that man
privately. Who could blame him ? He's
an old police hand. He told me virtually
that he must have tools to work with. It
occurred to me that this tool should be sur-
rendered to the Special Crimes division as a
whole, instead of remaining the private property
of Chief Inspector Heat. I extend my con-
ception of our departmental duties to the
suppression of the secret agent. But Chief
Inspector Heat is an old departmental hand.
He would accuse me of perverting its morality
and attacking its efficiency. He would define
it bitterly as protection extended to the
criminal class of revolutionists. It would mean
just that to him."

" Yes. But what do you mean ?"

" I mean to say, first, that there's but poor

198 THE SECRET AGENT

comfort in being able to declare that any given
act of violence damaging property or destroy-
ing life is not the work of anarchism at all, but
of something else altogether some species of
authorised scoundrelism. This, I fancy, is much
more frequent than we suppose. Next, it's
obvious that the existence of these people in the
pay of foreign governments destroys in a mea-
sure the efficiency of our supervision. A spy of
that sort can afford to be more reckless than
the most reckless of conspirators. His occupa-
tion is free from all restraint. He's without as
much faith as is necessary for complete nega-
tion, and without that much law as is im-
plied in lawlessness. Thirdly, the existence
of these spies amongst the revolutionary
groups, which we are reproached for harbour-
ing here, does away with all certitude. You
have received a reassuring statement from
Chief Inspector Heat some time ago. It was
by no means groundless- and yet this episode
happens. I call it an episode, because this
affair, I make bold to say, is episodic; it is no
part of any general scheme, however wild.
The very peculiarities which surprise and per-
plex Chief Inspector Heat establish it scharac-
ter in my eyes. I am keeping clear of details,
Sir Ethelred."

THE SECRET AGENT 199

The Personage on the hearthrug had been
listening with profound attention.

"Just so. Be as concise as you can."

The Assistant Commissioner intimated by an
earnest deferential gesture that he was anxious
to be concise.

" There is a peculiar stupidity and feeble-
ness in the conduct of this affair which gives
me excellent hopes of getting behind it and
finding there something else than an individual
freak of fanaticism. For it is a planned thing,
undoubtedly. The actual perpetrator seems
to have been led by the hand to the spot,
and then abandoned hurriedly to his own de-
vices. The inference is that he was imported
from abroad for the purpose of committing
this outrage. At the same time one is forced
to the conclusion that he did not know enough
English to ask his way, unless one were to
accept the fantastic theory that he was a deaf

mute. I wonder now But this is idle.

He has destroyed himself by an accident,
obviously. Not an extraordinary accident.
But an extraordinary little fact remains : the
address on his clothing discovered by the
merest accident, too. It is an incredible little
fact, so incredible that the explanation which
will account for it is bound to touch the bottom

200 THE SECRET AGENT

of this affair. Instead of instructing Heat to
go on with this case, my intention is to seek
this explanation personally by myself, I mean
where it may be picked up. That is in a certain
shop in Brett Street, and on the lips of a
certain secret agent once upon a time the con-
fidential and trusted spy of the late Baron
Stott - Wartenheim, Ambassador of a Great
Power to the Court of St James."

The Assistant Commissioner paused, then
added: "Those fellows are a perfect pest."
In order to raise his drooping glance to the
speaker's face,- the Personage on the hearthrug
had gradually tilted his head farther back, which
gave him an aspect of extraordinary haughti-
ness.

" Why not leave it to Heat ?"

" Because he is an old departmental hand.
They have their own morality. My line of
inquiry would appear to him an awful per-
version of duty. For him the plain duty is
to fasten the guilt upon as many prominent
anarchists as he can on some slight indications
he had picked up in the course of his investiga-
tion on the spot ; whereas I, he would say,
am bent upon vindicating their innocence. I
am trying to be as lucid as I can in presenting
this obscure matter to you without details."

THE SECRET AGENT 201

" He would, would he ? " muttered the proud
head of Sir Ethelred from its lofty elevation.

" I am afraid so with an indignation and
disgust of which you or I can have no idea.
He's an excellent servant We must not put
an undue strain on his loyalty. That's always
a mistake. Besides, I want a free hand a
freer hand than it would be perhaps advisable
to give Chief Inspector Heat. I haven't the
slightest wish to spare this man Verloc. He. will,

I imagine, be extremely startled to find his con-
nection with this affair, whatever it may be,
brought home to him so quickly. Frightening
him will not be very difficult. But our true
objective lies behind him somewhere. I want
your authority to give him such assurances of
personal safety as I may think proper."

" Certainly," said the Personage on the
hearthrug. " Find out as much as you can ;
find it out in your own way."

" I must set about it without loss of time,
this very evening," said the Assistant Com-
missioner.

Sir Ethelred shifted one hand under his coat
tails, and tilting back his head, looked at him
steadily.

"We'll have a late sitting to-night," he said.

II Come to the House with your discoveries if

202 THE SECRET AGENT

we are not gone home. I'll warn Toodles to
look out for you. Hell take you into my room/'

The numerous family and the wide connec-
tions of the youthful-looking Private Secretary
cherished for him the hope of an austere and
exalted destiny. Meantime the social sphere
he adorned in his hours of idleness chose to
pet him under the above nickname. And Sir
Ethelred, hearing it on the lips of his wife and
girls every day (mostly at breakfast-time), had
conferred upon it the dignity of unsmiling
adoption.

The Assistant Commissioner was surprised
and gratified extremely.

" I shall certainly bring my discoveries to
the House on the chance of you having the
time to "

" I won't have the time/' interrupted the
great Personage. " But I will see you. I

haven't the time now And you are going

yourself ? "

"Yes, Sir Ethelred. I think it the best way."

The Personage had tilted his head so far
back that, in order to keep the Assistant
Commissioner under his observation, he had
to nearly close his eyes.

" H'm. Ha ! And how do you propose

Will you assume a disguise ? "

THE SECRET AGENT 203

" Hardly a disguise ! I'll change my clothes,
of course."

" Of course," repeated the great man, with a
sort of absent-minded loftiness. He turned his
big head slowly, and over his shoulder gave a
haughty oblique stare to the ponderous marble
timepiece with the sly, feeble tick. The gilt
hands had taken the opportunity to steal
through no less than five and twenty minutes
behind his back.

The Assistant Commissioner, who could not
see them, grew a little nervous in the interval.
But the great man presented to him a calm
and undismayed face.

"Very well," he said, and paused, as if in
deliberate contempt of the official clock. " But
what first put you in motion in this direction?"

" I have been always of opinion," began the
Assistant Commissioner.

" Ah. Yes ! Opinion. That's of course.
But the immediate motive ? "

"What shall I say, Sir Ethelred? A new
man's antagonism to old methods. A desire
to know something at first hand. Some im-
patience. It's my old work, but the harness
is different. It has been chafing me a little in
one or two tender places."

" I hope you'll get on over there," said the

204 THE SECRET AGENT

great man kindly, extending his hand, soft to
the touch, but broad and powerful like the hand
of a glorified farmer. The Assistant Commis-
sioner shook it, and withdrew.

In the outer room Toodles, who had been
waiting perched on the edge of a table, advanced
to meet him, subduing his natural buoyancy.

" Well ? Satisfactory ? " he asked, with airy
importance.

" Perfectly. YouVe earned my undying
gratitude/' answered the Assistant Commis-
sioner, whose long face looked wooden in con-
trast with the peculiar character of the other's
gravity, which seemed perpetually ready to
break into ripples and chuckles.

"That's all right. But seriously, you can't
imagine how irritated he is by the attacks on
his Bill for the Nationalisation of Fisheries.
They call it the beginning of social revolution.
Of course, it is a revolutionary measure. But
these fellows have no decency. The personal
attacks "

" I read the papers," remarked the Assistant
Commissioner.

" Odious ? Eh ? And you have no notion
what a mass of work he has got to get through
every day. He does it all himself. Seems
unable to trust anyone with these Fisheries/ 1

THE SECRET AGENT 205

" And yet he's given a whole half hour to the
consideration of my very small sprat/' interjected
the Assistant Commissioner.

" Small ! Is it ? I'm glad to hear that. But
it's a pity you didn't keep away, then. This
fight takes it out of him frightfully. The man's
getting exhausted. I feel it by the way he leans
on my arm as we walk oven And, I say, is he
safe in the streets ? Mullins has been march-
ing his men up here this afternoon. There's a
constable stuck by every lamp-post, and every
second person we meet between this and Palace
Yard is an obvious 'tec/ It will get on his
nerves presently. I say, these foreign scoundrels
aren't likely to throw something at him are
they ? It would be a national calamity. The
country can't spare him."

" Not to mention yourself. He leans on
your arm," suggested the Assistant Commis-
sioner soberly. " You would both go."

" It would be an easy way for a young man
to go down into history? Not so many British
Ministers have been assassinated as to make it
a minor incident. But seriously now "

" I am afraid that if you want to go down
into history you'll have to do something for it.
Seriously, there's no danger whatever for both
of you but from overwork,"

206 THE SECRET AGENT

The sympathetic Toodles welcomed this
opening for a chuckle.

" The Fisheries won't kill me. I am used to
late hours/* he declared, with ingenuous levity.
But, feeling an instant compunction, he began
to assume an air of statesman-like moodiness,
as one draws on a glove. " His massive intel-
lect will stand any amount of work. It's his
nerves that I am afraid of. The reactionary
gang, with that abusive brute Cheeseman at
their head, insult him every night."

" If he will insist on beginning a revolution !"
murmured the Assistant Commissioner.

" The time has come, and he is the only
man great enough for the work," protested the
revolutionary Toodles, flaring up under the
calm, speculative gaze of the Assistant Com-
missioner. Somewhere in a corridor a distant
bell tinkled urgently, and with devoted vigil-
ance the young man pricked up his ears at the
sound. "He's ready to go now," he exclaimed
in a whisper, snatched up his hat, and vanished
from the room.

The Assistant Commissioner went out by
another door in a less elastic manner. Again he
crossed the wide thoroughfare, walked along a
narrow street, and re-entered hastily his own
departmental buildings. He kept up this accel-

THE SECRET AGENT 207

crated pace to the door of his private room.
Before he had closed it fairly his eyes sought
his desk. He stood still for a moment, then
walked up, looked all round on the floor, sat
down in his chair, rang a bell, and waited.
" Chief Inspector Heat gone yet ? "
" Yes, sir. Went away half-an-hour ago."
He nodded. " That will do." And sitting still,
with his hat pushed off his forehead, he thought
that it was just like Heat's confounded cheek to
carry off quietly the only piece of material
evidence. But he thought this without ani-
mosity. Old and valued servants will take
liberties. The piece of overcoat with the
address sewn on was certainly not a thing to
leave about. Dismissing from his mind this
manifestation of Chief Inspector Heat's mis-
trust, he wrote and despatched a note to his
wife, charging her to make his apologies to
Michaelis' great lady, with whom they were
engaged to dine that evening.

The short jacket and the low, round hat he
assumed in a sort of curtained alcove containing
a washstand, a row of wooden pegs and a shelf,
brought out wonderfully the length of his grave,
brown face. He stepped back into the full
light of the room, looking like the vision of a
cool, reflective Don Quixote, with the sunken

208 THE SECRET AGENT

eyes of a dark enthusiast and a very deliberate
manner. He left the scene of his daily labours
quickly like an unobtrusive shadow. His de-
scent into the street was like the descent into a
slimy aquarium from which the water had been
run off A murky, gloomy dampness enveloped
him. The walls of the houses were wet, the mud
of the roadway glistened with an effect of phos-
phorescence, and when he emerged into the
Strand out of a narrow street by the side of
Charing Cross Station the genius of the locality
assimilated him. He might have been but one
more of the queer foreign fish that can be seen
of an evening about there flitting round the
dark corners.

He came to a stand on the very edge of the
pavement, and waited. His exercised eyes had
made out in the confused movements of lights
and shadows thronging the roadway the crawl-
ing approach of a hansom. He gave no sign ;
but when the low step gliding along the curb-
stone came to his feet he dodged in skilfully in
front of the big turning wheel, and spoke up
through the little trap door almost before the
man gazing supinely ahead from his perch was
aware of having been boarded by a fare.

It was not a long drive. It ended by signal
abruptly, nowhere in particular, between two

THE SECRET AGENT 209

lamp-posts before a large drapery establishment
a long range of shops already lapped up in
sheets of corrugated iron for the night. Tender-
ing a coin through the trap door the fare slipped
out and away, leaving an effect of uncanny,
eccentric ghostliness upon the driver's rnind.
But the size of the coin was satisfactory to his
touch, and his education not being literary, he
remained untroubled by the fear of finding it
presently turned to a dead leaf in his pocket.
Raised above the world of fares by the nature
of his calling, he contemplated their actions
with a limited interest. The sharp pulling of
his horse right round expressed his philosophy.
Meantime the Assistant Commissioner was
already giving his order to a waiter in a little
Italian restaurant round the corner one of those
traps for the hungry, long and narrow, baited
with a perspective of mirrors and white napery ;
without air, but with an atmosphere of their
own an atmosphere of fraudulent cookery mock-
ing an abject mankind in the most pressing
of its miserable necessities. In this immoral
atmosphere the Assistant Commissioner, reflect-
ing upon his enterprise, seemed to lose some
more of his identity. He had a sense of loneli-
ness, of evil freedom. It was rather pleasant.
When, after paying for his short meal, he stood

210 THE SECRET AGENT

up and waited for his change, he saw himself in
the sheet of glass, and was struck by his foreign
appearance. He contemplated his own image
with a melancholy and inquisitive gaze, then
by sudden inspiration raised the collar of his
jacket. This arrangement appeared to him
commendable, and he completed it by giving an
upward twist to the ends of his black moustache.
He was satisfied by the subtle modification of
his personal aspect caused by these small
changes. " That'll do very well/ 1 he thought.
" Fllget a little wet, a little splashed "

He became aware of the waiter at his elbow
and of a small pile of silver coins on the edge
of the table before him. The waiter kept one
eye on it, while his other eye followed the long
back of a tall, not very young girl, who passed
up to a distant table looking perfectly sightless
and altogether unapproachable. She seemed
to be a habitual customer.

On going out the Assistant Commissioner
made to himself the observation that the patrons
of the place had lost in the frequentation of fraud-
ulent cookery all their national and private
characteristics. And this was strange, since
the Italian restaurant is such a peculiarly British
institution. But these people were as denation-
alised as the dishes set before them with every cir-

THE SECRET AGENT 211

cumstance of unstamped respectability. Neither
was their personality stamped in any way, pro-
fessionally, socially or racially. They seemed
created for the Italian restaurant, unless the
Italian restaurant had been perchance created for
them. But that last hypothesis was unthinkable,
since one could not place them anywhere outside
those special establishments. One never met
these enigmatical persons elsewhere. It was
impossible to form a precise idea what occupa-
tions they followed by day and where they went
to bed at night. And he himself had become
unplaced. It would have been impossible for
anybody to guess his occupation. As to going
to bed, there was a doubt even in his own mind.
Not indeed in regard to his domicile itself, but
very much so in respect of the time when he
would be able to return there. A pleasurable
feeling of independence possessed him when he
heard the glass doors swing to behind his back
with a sort of imperfect baffled thud. He
advanced at once into an immensity of greasy
slime and damp plaster interspersed with lamps,
and enveloped, oppressed, penetrated, choked,
and suffocated by the blackness of a wet London
night, which is composed of soot and drops of
water.

Brett Street was not very far away. It

212 THE SECRET AGENT

branched off, narrow, from the side of an open
triangular space surrounded by dark and myster-
ious houses, temples of petty commerce emptied
of traders for the night. Only a fruiterer's stall
at the corner made a violent blaze of light and
colour. Beyond all was black, and the few
people passing in that direction vanished at one
stride beyond the glowing heaps of oranges and
lemons. No footsteps echoed. They would
never be heard of again. The adventurous
head of the Special Crimes Department watched
these disappearances from a distance with an
interested eye. He felt light-hearted, as though
he had been ambushed all alone in a jungle
many thousands of miles away from depart-
mental desks and official inkstands. This joy-
ousness and dispersion of thought before a task
of some importance seems to prove that this
world of ours is not such a very serious affair
after all. For the Assistant Commissioner was
not constitutionally inclined to levity.

The policeman on the beat projected his
sombre and moving form against the luminous
glory of oranges and lemons, and entered
Brett Street without haste. The Assistant
Commissioner, as though he were a member
of the criminal classes, lingered out of sight,
awaiting his return. But this constable seemed

THE SECRET AGENT 213

to be lost for ever to the force. He never re-
turned : must have gone out at the other end of
Brett Street.

The Assistant Commissioner, reaching this
conclusion, entered the street in his turn, and
came upon a large van arrested in front of the
dimly lit window-panes of a carter's eating-
house. The man was refreshing himself inside,
and the horses, their big heads lowered to the
ground, fed out of nose-bags steadily. Farther
on, on the opposite side of the street, another
suspect patch of dim light issued from Mr
Verloc's shop front, hung with papers, heaving
with vague piles of cardboard boxes and the
shapes of books. The Assistant Commissioner
stood observing it across the roadway. There
could be no mistake. By the side of the front
window, encumbered by the shadows of nonde-
script things, the door, standing ajar, let escape
on the pavement a narrow, clear streak of gas-
light within.

Behind the Assistant Commissioner the van
and horses, merged into one mass, seemed some-
thing alive a square - backed black monster
blocking half the street, with sudden iron-shod
stampings, fierce jingles, and heavy, blowing
sighs. The harshly festive, ill-omened glare
of a large and prosperous public-house faced

214 THE SECRET AGENT

the other end of Brett Street across a wide
road. This barrier of blazing lights, opposing
the shadows gathered about the humble abode
of Mr Verloc's domestic happiness, seemed to
drive the obscurity of the street back upon it-
self, make it more sullen, brooding, and sinister.

VIII

TTAVING infused by persistent importunities
some sort of heat into the chilly interest of
several licensed victuallers (the acquaintances
once upon a time of her late unlucky husband),
Mrs Verloc's mother had at last secured her ad-
mission to certain almshouses founded by a
wealthy innkeeper for the destitute widows of
the trade.

This end, conceived in the astuteness of her
uneasy heart, the old woman had pursued with
secrecy and determination. That was the time
when her daughter Winnie could not help pass-
ing a remark to Mr Verloc that " mother has been
spending half-crowns and five shillings almost
every day this last week in cab fares." But
the remark was not made grudgingly. Winnie
respected her mother's infirmities. She was
only a little surprised at this sudden mania for
locomotion. Mr Verloc, who was sufficiently
magnificent in his way, had grunted the re-
mark impatiently aside as interfering with his
meditations. These were frequent, deep, and
prolonged ; they bore upon a matter more

216 THE SECRET AGENT

important than five shillings. Distinctly more
important, and beyond all comparison more
difficult to consider in all its aspects with philo-
sophical serenity.

Her object attained in astute secrecy, the
heroic old woman had made a clean breast of it
to Mrs Verloc. Her soul was triumphant and her
heart tremulous. Inwardly she quaked, because
she dreaded and admired the calm, self-contained
character of her daughter Winnie, whose dis-
pleasure was made redoubtable by a diversity
of dreadful silences. But she did not allow
her inward apprehensions to rob her of the
advantage of venerable placidity conferred upon
her outward person by her triple chin, the float-
ing ampleness of her ancient form, and the
impotent condition of her legs.

The shock of the information was so unex-
pected that Mrs Verloc, against her usual practice
when addressed, interrupted the domestic occu-
pation she was engaged upon. It was the
dusting of the furniture in the parlour behind
the shop. She turned her head towards her
mother.

" Whatever did you want to do that for ? "
she exclaimed, in scandalised astonishment.

The shock must have been severe to make
her depart from that distant and uninquiring

THE SECRET AGENT 21?

acceptance of facts which was her force and her
safeguard in life.

" Weren't you made comfortable enough
here?"

She had lapsed into these inquiries, but
next moment she saved the consistency of her
conduct by resuming her dusting, while the old
woman sat scared and dumb under her dingy
white cap and lustreless dark wig.

Winnie finished the chair, and ran the duster
along the mahogany at the back of the horse-
hair sofa on which Mr Verloc loved to take
his ease in hat and overcoat. She was intent
on her work, but presently she permitted herself
another question.

" How in the world did you manage it,
mother ? "

As not affecting the inwardness of things,
which it was Mrs Verloc's principle to ignore,
this curiosity was excusable. It bore merely
on the methods. The old woman welcomed
it eagerly as bringing forward something that
could be talked about with much sincerity.

She favoured her daughter by an exhaustive
answer, full of names and enriched by side com-
ments upon the ravages of time as observed
in the alteration of human countenances. The
names were principally the names of licensed

218 THE SECRET AGENT

victuallers "poor daddy's friends, my dear."
She enlarged with special appreciation on the
kindness and condescension of a large brewer,
a Baronet and an M.P., the Chairman of the
Governors of the Charity. She expressed her-
self thus warmly because she had been allowed to
interview by appointment his Private Secretary
"a very polite gentleman, all in black, with a
gentle, sad voice, but so very, very thin and
quiet. He was like a shadow, my dear/ 1

Winnie, prolonging her dusting operations
till the tale was told to the end, walked out of
the parlour .into the kitchen (down two steps)
in her usual manner, without the slightest
comment.

Shedding a few tears in sign of rejoicing at
her daughter's mansuetude in this terrible affair,
Mrs Verloc's mother gave play to her astute-
ness in the direction of her furniture, because
it was her own ; and sometimes she wished it
hadn't been. Heroism is all very well, but
there are circumstances when the disposal of
a few tables and chairs, brass bedsteads, and so
on, may be big with remote and disastrous con-
sequences. She required a few pieces herself,
the Foundation which, after many importunities,
had gathered her to its charitable breast, giving
nothing but bare planks and cheaply papered

THE SECRET AGENT 21d

bricks to the objects of its solicitude. The
delicacy guiding her choice to the least valuable
and most dilapidated articles passed unac-
knowledged, because Winnie's philosophy con-
sisted in not taking notice of the inside of facts ;
she assumed that mother took what suited her
best. As to Mr Verloc, his intense medita-
tion, like a sort of Chinese wall, isolated him
completely from the phenomena of this world of
vain effort and illusory appearances.

Her selection made, the disposal of the rest
became a perplexing question in a particular
way. She was leaving it in Brett Street, of
course. But she had two children. Winnie
was provided for by her sensible union with that
excellent husband, Mr Verloc. Stevie was
destitute and a little peculiar. His position
had to be considered before the claims of legal
justice and even the promptings of partiality.
The possession of the furniture would not be
in any sense a provision. He ought to have
it the poor boy. But to give it to him would
be like tampering with his position of complete
dependence. It was a sort of claim which she
feared to weaken. Moreover, the susceptibilities
of Mr Verloc would perhaps not brook being
beholden to his brother-in-law for the chairs he
sat on. In a long experience of gentlemen

220 THE SECRET AGENT

lodgers, Mrs Verloc's mother had acquired a
dismal but resigned notion of the fantastic side of
human nature. What if Mr Verloc suddenly
took it into his head to tell Stevie to take his
blessed sticks somewhere out of that? A
division, on the other hand, however carefully
made, might give some cause of offence to
Winnie. No. Stevie must remain destitute
and dependent. And at the moment of leav-
ing Brett Street she had said to her daughter :
"No use waiting till I am dead, is there?
Everything I leave here is altogether your own
now, my dean."

Winnie, with her hat on, silent behind her
mother's back, went on arranging the collar
of the old woman's cloak. She got her hand-
bag, an umbrella, with an impassive face.
The time had come for the expenditure of the
sum of three-and-sixpence on what might well
be supposed the last cab drive of Mrs Verloc's
mother's life. They went out at the shop
door.

The conveyance awaiting them would have
illustrated the proverb that " truth can be more
cruel than caricature," if such a proverb existed.
Crawling behind an infirm horse, a metropo-
litan hackney carriage drew up on wobbly
wheels and with a maimed driver on the box.

THE SECRET AGENT 221

This last peculiarity caused some embarrass-
ment. Catching sight of a hooked iron con-
trivance protruding from the left sleeve of the
man's coat, Mrs Verloc's mother lost suddenly
the heroic courage of these days. She really
couldn't trust herself. "What do you think,
Winnie?" She hung back. The passionate
expostulations of the big-faced cabman seemed
to be squeezed out of a blocked throat. Leaning
over from his box, he whispered with mysterious
indignation. What was the matter now? Was
it possible to treat a man so? His enormous
and unwashed countenance flamed red in the
muddy stretch of the street. Was it likely they
would have given him a licence, he inquired
desperately, if

The police constable of the locality quieted
him by a friendly glance ; then addressing him-
self to the two women without marked con-
sideration, said :

"He's been driving a cab for twenty years.
I never knew him to have an accident."

"Accident!" shouted the driver in a scorn-
ful whisper.

The policeman's testimony settled it. The
modest assemblage of seven people, mostly
under age, dispersed. Winnie followed her
mother into the cab. Stevie climbed on the

222 THE SECRET AGENT

box. His vacant mouth and distressed eyes
depicted the state of his mind in regard to the
transactions which were taking place. In the
narrow streets the progress of the journey was
made sensible to those within by the near fronts
of the houses gliding past slowly and shakily,
with a great rattle and jingling of glass, as if
about to collapse behind the cab ; and the infirm
horse, with the harness hung over his sharp
backbone flapping very loose about his thighs,
appeared to be dancing mincingly on his toes
with infinite patience. Later on, in the wider
space of Whitehall, all visual evidences of motion
became imperceptible. The rattle and jingle of
glass went on indefinitely in front of the long
Treasury building and time itself seemed to
stand still.

At last Winnie observed ; " This isn't a very
good horse."

Her eyes gleamed in the shadow of the
cab straight ahead, immovable. On the box,
Stevie shut his vacant mouth first, in order to
ejaculate earnestly : " Don't."

The driver, holding high the reins tw r isted
around the hook, took no notice. Perhaps he
had not heard. Stevie's breast heaved.

"Don't whip/'

The man turned slowly his bloated and

THE SECRET AGENT 223

sodden face of many colours bristling with
white hairs. His little red eyes glistened with
moisture. His big lips had a violet tint. They
remained closed. With the dirty back of his
whip -hand he rubbed the stubble sprouting
on his enormous chin.

" You mustn't," stammered out Stevie
violently. "It hurts."

" Mustn't whip," queried the other in a
thoughtful whisper, and immediately whipped.
He did this, not because his soul was cruel and
his heart evil, but because he had to earn his
fare. And for a time the walls of St Stephen's,
with its towers and pinnacles, contemplated in
immobility and silence a cab that jingled. It
rolled too, however. But on the bridge there
was a commotion. Stevie suddenly proceeded
to get down from the box. There were shouts
on the pavement, people ran forward, the
driver pulled up, whispering curses of indigna-
tion and astonishment. Winnie lowered the
window, and put her head out, white as a ghost.
In the depths of the cab, her mother was ex-
claiming, in tones of anguish : " Is that boy
hurt ? Is that boy hurt ? "

Stevie was not hurt, he had not even
fallen, but excitement as usual had robbed him
of the power of connected speech. He could

224 THE SECRET AGENT

do no more than stammer at the window:
"Too heavy. Too heavy." Winnie put out
her hand on to his shoulder.

"Stevie! Get up on the box directly, and
don't try to get down again/'

" No. No. Walk. Must walk."

In trying to state the nature of that neces-
sity he stammered himself into utter inco-
herence. No physical impossibility stood in the
way of his whim. Stevie could have managed
easily to keep pace with the infirm, dancing
horse without getting out of breath. But his
sister withheld her consent decisively. "The
idea ! Who ever heard of such a thing ! Run
after a cab ! " Her mother, frightened and help-
less in the depths of the conveyance, entreated:

" Oh, don't let him, Winnie. He'll get lost.
Don't let him."

" Certainly not. What next i Mr Verloc
will be sorry to hear of this nonsense, Stevie,
I can tell you. He won't be happy at
all."

The idea of Mr Verloc's grief and unhappi-
ness acting as usual powerfully upon Stevie's
fundamentally docile disposition, he abandoned
all resistance, and climbed up again on the box,
with a face of despair.

The cabby turned at hirn his enormous and

THE SECRET AGENT 225

inflamed countenance truculently. " Don't you
go for trying this silly game again, young
fellow."

After delivering himself thus in a stern
whisper, strained almost to extinction, he drove
on, ruminating solemnly. To his mind the
incident remained somewhat obscure. But his
intellect, though it had lost its pristine vivacity
in the benumbing years of sedentary exposure
to the weather, lacked not independence or
sanity. Gravely he dismissed the hypothesis
of Stevie being a drunken young nipper.

Inside the cab the spell of silence, in which
the two women had endured shoulder to
shoulder the jolting, rattling, and jingling of the
journey, had been broken by Stevie's out-
break. Winnie raised her voice.

"You've done what you wanted, mother.
You'll have only yourself to thank for it if you
aren't happy afterwards. And I don't think
you'll be. That I don't. Weren't you comfort-
able enough in the house ? Whatever people'll
think of us you throwing yourself like this on
a Charity?"

" My dear," screamed the old woman
earnestly above the noise, "you've been the
best of daughters to me. As to Mr Verloc
there "

226 THE SECRET AGENT

Words failing her on the subject of Mr
Verloc's excellence, she turned her old tearful
eyes to the roof of the cab. Then she averted
her head on the pretence of looking out of the
window, as if to judge of their progress. It
was insignificant, and went on close to the
curbstone. Night, the early dirty night, the
sinister, noisy, hopeless and rowdy night of
South London, had overtaken her on her last
cab drive* In the gas-light of the low-fronted
shops her big cheeks glowed with an orange
hue under a black and mauve bonnet.

Mrs Verloc's mother's complexion had be-
come yellow by the effect of age and from a
natural predisposition to biliousness, favoured
by the trials of a difficult and worried existence,
first as wife, then as widow. It was a com-
plexion, that under the influence of a blush
would take on an orange tint. And this
woman, modest indeed but hardened in the
fires of adversity, of an age, moreover, when
blushes are not expected, had positively blushed
before her daughter. In the privacy of a four-
wheeler, on her way to a charity cottage (one
of a row) which by the exiguity of its dimen-
sions and the simplicity of its accommodation,
might well have been devised in kindness as a
place of training for the still more straitened

THE SECRET AGENT 227

circumstances of the grave, she was forced to
hide from her own child a blush of remorse
and shame.

Whatever people will think ? She knew very
well what they did think, the people Winnie had
in her mind the old friends of her husband,
and others too, whose interest she had solicited
with such flattering success. She had not
known before what a good beggar she could
be. But she guessed very well what inference
was drawn from her application. On account
of that shrinking delicacy, which exists side
by side with aggressive brutality in masculine
nature, the inquiries into her circumstances had
not been pushed very far. She had checked
them by a visible compression of the lips and
some display of an emotion determined to be
eloquently silent. And the men would become
suddenly incurious, after the manner of their
kind. She congratulated herself more than
once on having nothing to do with women,
who being naturally more callous and avid of
details, would have been anxious to be exactly
informed by what sort of unkind conduct her
daughter and son-in-law had driven her to
that sad extremity. It was only before the
Secretary of the great brewer M.P. and Chair-
man of the Charity, who, acting for his principal,

228 THE SECRET AGENT

felt bound to be conscientiously inquisitive as
to the real circumstances of the applicant, that
she had burst into tears outright and aloud, as
a cornered woman will weep. The thin and
polite gentleman, after contemplating her with
an air of being "struck all of a heap," abandoned
his position under the cover of soothing remarks.
She must not distress herself. The deed of the
Charity did not absolutely specify "childless
widows." In fact, it did not by any means dis-
qualify her. But the discretion of the Com-
mittee must be an informed discretion. One
could understand very well her unwillingness to
be a burden, etc. etc. Thereupon, to his pro-
found disappointment, Mrs Verloc's mother wept
some more with an augmented vehemence.

The tears of that large female in a dark, dusty
wig, and ancient silk dress festooned with dingy
white cotton lace, were the tears of genuine dis-
tress. She had wept because she was heroic
and unscrupulous and full of love for both her
children. Girls frequently get sacrificed to the
welfare of the boys. In this case she was sacrific-
ing Winnie. By the suppression of truth she
was slandering her. Of course, Winnie was in-
dependent, and need not care for the opinion of
people that she would never see and who would
never see her ; whereas poor Stevie had nothing

THE SECRET AGENT 229

in the world he could call his own except his
mother's heroism and unscrupulousness.

The first sense of security following on
Winnie's marriage wore off in time (for nothing
lasts), and Mrs Verloc's mother, in the seclusion
of the back bedroom, had recalled the teaching
of that experience which the world impresses
upon a widowed woman. But she had recalled
it without vain bitterness ; her store of resigna-
tion amounted almost to dignity. She reflected
stoically that everything decays, wears out, in
this world ; that the way of kindness should be
made easy to the well disposed; that her
daughter Winnie was a most devoted sister,
and a very self-confident wife indeed. As re-
gards Winnie's sisterly devotion, her stoicism
flinched. She excepted that sentiment from the
rule of decay affecting all things human and some
things divine. She could not help it; not to do
so would have frightened her too much. But
in considering the conditions of her daughter's
married state, she rejected firmly all flatter-
ing illusions. She took the cold and reasonable
view that the less strain put on Mr Verloc's
kindness the longer its effects were likely to last.
That excellent man loved his wife, of course, but
he would, no doubt, prefer to keep as few of her
relations as was consistent with the proper dis-

230 THE SECRET AGENT

play of that sentiment It would be better if its
whole effect were concentrated on poor Stevie.
And the heroic old woman resolved on going
away from her children as an act of devotion and
as a move of deep policy.

The " virtue " of this policy consisted in this
(Mrs Verloc's mother was subtle in her way),
that Stevie's moral claim would be strength-
ened. The poor boy a good, useful boy, if a
little peculiar had not a sufficient standing.
He had been taken over with his mother, some-
what in the same way as the furniture of the
Belgravian mansion had been taken over, as if
on the ground of belonging to her exclusively.
What will happen, she asked herself (for Mrs
Verloc's mother was in a measure imaginative),
when I die ? And when she asked herself that
question it was with dread. It was also terrible to
think that she would not then have the means of
knowing what happened to the poor boy. But
by making him over to his sister, by going
thus away, she gave him the advantage of
a directly dependent position. This was the
more subtle sanction of Mrs Verloc's mother's
heroism and unscrupulousness. Her act of
abandonment was really an arrangement for
settling her son permanently in life. Other
people made material sacrifices for such an ob-

THE SECRET AGENT 231

ject, she in that way. It was the only way.
Moreover, she would be able to see how it
worked 111 or well she would avoid the horrible
incertitude on the death-bed. But it was hard,
hard, cruelly hard.

The cab rattled, jingled, jolted ; in fact, the
last was quite extraordinary. By its dispro-
portionate violence and magnitude it obliter-
ated every sensation of onward movement ; and
the effect was of being shaken in a stationary
apparatus like a mediaeval device for the
punishment of crime, or some very new-fangled
invention for the cure of a sluggish liver. It
was extremely distressing ; and the raising of
Mrs Verloc's mother's voice sounded like a wail
of pain.

" I know, my dear, you'll come to see me as
often as you can spare the time. Won't you ? "

" Of course," answered Winnie shortly, star-
ing straight before her.

And the cab jolted in front of a steamy,
greasy shop in a blaze of gas and in the smell
of fried fish.

The old woman raised a wail again.

" And, my dear, I must see that poor boy
every Sunday. He won't mind spending the
day with his old mother "

Winnie screamed out stolidly:

282 THE SECRET AGENT

" Mind ! I should think not. That poor
boy will miss you something cruel. I wish
you had thought a little of that, mother."

Not think of it ! The heroic woman swal-
lowed a playful and inconvenient object like a
billiard ball, which had tried to jump out of her
throat. Winnie sat mute for a while, pouting
at the front of the cab, then snapped out, which
was an unusual tone with her :

" I expect Til have a job with him at first,
he'll be that restless "

" Whatever you do, don't let him worry your
husband, my. dear."

Thus they discussed on familiar lines the
bearings of a new situation. And the cab
jolted. Mrs Verloc's mother expressed some
misgivings. Could Stevie be trusted to come
all that way alone ? Winnie maintained that
he was much less " absent-minded" now. They
agreed as to that. It could not be denied.
Much less hardly at all. They shouted at
each other in the jingle with comparative cheer-
fulness. But suddenly the maternal anxiety
broke out afresh. There were two omnibuses
to take, and a short walk between. It was too
difficult ! The old woman gave way to grief
and consternation.

Winnie stared forward.

THE SECRET AGENT 288

" Don't you upset yourself like this, mother.
You must see him, of course."

" No, my dear. Ill try not to."

She mopped her streaming eyes.

" But you can't spare the time to come with
him, and if he should forget himself and lose
his way and somebody spoke to him sharply,
his name and address may slip his memory,
and he'll remain lost for days and days "

The vision of a workhouse infirmary for poor
Stevie if only during inquiries wrung her
heart. For she was a proud woman. Winnie's
stare had grown hard, intent, inventive.

" I can't bring him to you myself every week,"
-she cried. " But don't you worry, mother. I'll
see to it that he don't get lost for long."

They felt a peculiar bump ; a vision of brick
pillars lingered before the rattling windows of
the cab; a sudden cessation of atrocious jolt-
ing and uproarious jingling dazed the two
women. What had happened ? They sat
motionless and scared in the profound stillness,
till the door came open, and a rough, strained
whispering was heard :

" Here you are ! "

A range of gabled little houses, each with
one dim yellow window, on the ground floor,
surrounded the dark open space of a grass plot

234 THE SECRET AGENT

planted with shrubs and railed off from the
patchwork of lights and shadows in the wide
road, resounding with the dull rumble of traffic.
Before the door of one of these tiny houses one
without a light in the little downstairs window
the cab had come to a standstill. Mrs Verloc's
mother got out first, backwards, with a key in
her hand. Winnie lingered on the flagstone
path to pay the cabman. Stevie, after helping
to carry inside a lot of small parcels, came out
and stood under the light of a gas-lamp belong-
ing to the Charity. The cabman looked at the
pieces of silver, which, appearing very minute
in his big, grimy palm, symbolised the insignifi-
cant results which reward the ambitious courage
and toil of a mankind whose day is short on
this earth of evil.

He had been paid decently four one-shilling
pieces and he contemplated them in perfect
stillness, as if they had been the surprising
terms of a melancholy problem. The slow
transfer of that treasure to an inner pocket
demanded much laborious groping in the depths
of decayed clothing. His form was squat
and without flexibility. Stevie, slender, his
shoulders a little up, and his hands thrust deep
in the side pockets of his warm overcoat, stood
at the edge of the path, pouting.

THE SECRET AGENT 235

The cabman, pausing in his deliberate
movements, seemed struck by some misty re-
collection.

" Oh ! 'Ere you are, young fellow," he whis-
pered " You'll know him again won't you ? "

Stevie was staring at the horse, whose hind
quarters appeared unduly elevated by the effect
of emaciation. The little stifi tail seemed to
have been fitted in for a heartless joke ; and
at the other end the thin, flat neck, like a
plank covered with old horse-hide, drooped
to the ground under the weight of an enormous
bony head The ears hung at different angles,
negligently ; and the macabre figure of that
mute dweller on the earth steamed straight up
from ribs and backbone in the muggy stillness
of the air.

The cabman struck lightly Stevie's breast
with the iron hook protruding from a ragged,
greasy sleeve.

" Look 'ere, young feller. 'Ow'd you like to
sit behind this 'oss up to two o'clock in the
morning p'raps ? "

Stevie looked vacantly into the fierce little
eyes with red-edged lids.

" He ain't lame," pursued the other, whisper-
ing with energy. " He ain't got no sore places
on 'im. 'Ere he is. 'Ow would yoii like "

236 THE SECRET AGENT

His strained, extinct voice invested his utter-
ance with a character of vehement secrecy.
Stevie's vacant gaze was changing slowly into
dread.

" You may well look! Till three and four
o'clock in the morning. Cold and \mgry.
Looking for fares. Drunks."

His jovial purple cheeks bristled with white
hairs ; and like Virgil's Silenus, who, his face
smeared with the juice of berries, discoursed of
Olympian Gods to the innocent shepherds of
Sicily, he talked to Stevie of domestic matters
and the affairs of men whose sufferings are
great and immortality by no means assured.

"I am a night cabby, I am," he whispered,
with a sort of boastful exasperation. " IVe got
to take out what they will blooming well give
me at the yard. IVe got my missus and four
kids at 'ome."

The monstrous nature of that declaration of
paternity seemed to strike the world dumb. A
silence reigned, during which the flanks of the old
horse, the steed of apocalyptic misery, smoked
upwards in the light of the charitable gas-lamp.

The cabman grunted, then added in his
mysterious whisper :

"This ain't an easy world."

Stevie's face had been twitching for some

THE SECRET AGENT 287

time, and at last his feelings burst out in their
usual concise form.

"Bad! Bad!"

His gaze remained fixed on the ribs of the
horse, self-conscious and sombre, as though he
were afraid to look about him at the badness
of the world. And his slenderness, his rosy
lips and pale, clear complexion, gave him the
aspect of a delicate boy, notwithstanding the
fluffy growth of golden hair on his cheeks. He
pouted in a scared way like a child The cab-
man, short and broad, eyed him with his fierce
little eyes that seemed to smart in a clear and
corroding liquid.

"'Ard on 'osses, but dam' sight 'arder on
poor chaps like me, 1 ' he wheezed just audibly.

" Poor ! Poor ! " stammered out Stevie,
pushing his hands deeper into his pockets with
convulsive sympathy. He could say nothing ;
for the tenderness to all pain and all misery,
the desire to make the horse happy and the
cabman happy, had reached the point of a bizarre
longing to take them to bed with him. And
that, he knew, was impossible. For Stevie was
not mad. It was, as it were, a symbolic long-
ing ; and at the same time it was very distinct,
because springing from experience, the mother
of wisdom. Thus when as a child he cowered

288 THE SECRET AGENT

in a dark corner scared, wretched, sore, and
miserable with the black, black misery of the
soul, his sister Winnie used to come along, and
carry him off to bed with her, as into a heaven
of consoling peace. Stevie, though apt to
forget mere facts, such as his name and address
for instance, had a faithful memory of sensa-
tions. To be taken into a bed of compassion
was the supreme remedy, with the only one dis-
advantage of being difficult of application on
a large scale. And looking at the cabman,
Stevie perceived this clearly, because he was
reasonable.

The cabman went on with his leisurely pre-
parations as if Stevie had not existed. He
made as if to hoist himself on the box, but at
the last moment from some obscure motive,
perhaps merely from disgust with carriage
exercise, desisted. He approached instead the
motionless partner of his labours, and stooping
to seize the bridle, lifted up the big, weary
head to the height of his shoulder with one
effort of his right arm, like a feat of strength.
" Come on," he whispered secretly.
Limping, he led the cab away. There was
an air of austerity in this departure, the
scrunched gravel of the drive crying out under
the slowly turning wheels, the horse's lean

THE SECRET AGENT 239

thighs moving with ascetic deliberation away
from the light into the obscurity of the open
space bordered dimly by the pointed roofs and
the feebly shining windows of the little alms-
houses. The plaint of the gravel travelled slowly
all round the drive. Between the lamps of the
charitable gateway the slow cortege reappeared,
lighted up for a moment, the short, thick man
limping busily, with the horse's head held aloft
in his fist, the lank animal walking in stiff and
forlorn dignity, the dark, low box on wheels roll-
ing behind comically with an air of waddling,
They turned to the left. There was a pub down
the street, within fifty yards of the gate.

Stevie left alone beside the private lamp-
post of the Charity, his hands thrust deep into
his pockets, glared with vacant sulkiness. At
the bottom of his pockets his incapable weak
hands were clinched hard into a pair of angry
fists. In the face of anything which affected
directly or indirectly his morbid dread of pain,
Stevie ended by turning vicious. A mag-
nanimous indignation swelled his frail chest to
bursting, and caused his candid eyes to squint.
Supremely wise in knowing his own powerless-
ness, Stevie was not wise enough to restrain
his passions. The tenderness of his uni-
versal charity had two phases as indissolubly

240 THE SECRET AGENT

joined and connected as the reverse and obverse
sides of a medal. The anguish of immoderate
compassion was succeeded by the pain of an
innocent but pitiless rage. Those two states
expressing themselves outwardly by the same
signs of futile bodily agitation, his sister Winnie
soothed his excitement without ever fathoming
its twofold character. Mrs Verloc wasted no
portion of this transient life in seeking for
fundamental information. This is a sort of
economy having all the appearances and some
of the advantages of prudence. Obviously it
may be good for one not to know too much.
And such a view accords very well with con-
stitutional indolence.

On that evening on which it may be said
that Mrs Verloc's mother having parted for
good from her children had also departed this
life, Winnie Verloc did not investigate her
brother's psychology. The poor boy was ex-
cited, of course. After once more assuring the
old woman on the threshold that she would
know how to guard against the risk of Stevie
losing himself for very long on his pilgrimages
of filial piety, she took her brother's arm to
walk away. Stevie did not even mutter to
himself, but with the special sense of sisterly
devotion developed in her earliest infancy, she

THE SECRET AGENT 241

felt that the boy was very much excited indeed.
Holding tight to his arm, under the appear-
ance of leaning on it, she thought of some
words suitable to the occasion.

" Now, Stevie, you must look well after me
at the crossings, and get first into the 'bus, like
a good brother."

This appeal to manly protection was received
by Stevie with his usual docility. It flattered
him He raised his head and threw out his
chest

" Don't be nervous, Winnie. Mustn't be
nervous ! 'Bus all right," he answered in a
brusque, slurring stammer partaking of the
timorousness of a child and the resolution of a
man. He advanced fearlessly with the woman
on his arm, but his lower lip dropped. Never-
theless, on the pavement of the squalid and wide
thoroughfare, whose poverty in all the amenities
of life stood foolishly exposed by a mad pro-
fusion of gas-lights, their resemblance to each
other was so pronounced as to strike the casual
passers-by

Before the doors of the public-house at the
corner, where the profusion of gas-light reached
the height of positive wickedness, a four-wheeled
cab standing by the curbstone with no one on the
box, seemed cast out into the gutter on account of
Q

242 THE SECRET AGENT

irremediable decay. Mrs Verloc recognised
the conveyance. Its aspect was so profoundly
lamentable, with such a perfection of grotesque
misery and weirdness of macabre detail, as it it
were the Cab of Death itself, that Mrs Verloc,
with that ready compassion of a woman for a
horse (when she is not sitting behind him),
exclaimed vaguely !

" Poor brute : "

Hanging back suddenly, Stevie inflicted an
arresting jerk upon his sister

" Poor ! Poor ! " he ejaculated appreciatively.
" Cabman poor too. He told me himself. 1 '

The contemplation ot the infirm and lonely
steed overcame him. Jostled, but obstinate, he
would remain there, trying to express the view
newly opened to his sympathies of the human
and equine misery in close association. But it
was very difficult. " Poor brute, poor people ! "
was all he could repeat. It did not seem for-
cible enough, and he came to a stop with an
angry splutter: " Shame!" Stevie was no
master of phrases, and perhaps for that very
reason his thoughts lacked clearness and
precision. But he felt with greater complete-
ness and some profundity. That little word
contained all his sense of indignation and
horror at one sort of wretchedness having to

THE SECRET AGENT 248

feed upon the anguish of the other at the
poor cabman beating the poor horse in the
name, as it were, of his poor kids at home. And
Stevie knew what it was to be beaten. He
knew it from experience. It was a bad world.
Bad! Bad!

Mrs Verloc, his only sister, guardian, and
protector, could not pretend to such depths of
insight. Moreover, she had not experienced
the magic of the cabman's eloquence. She was
in the dark as to the inwardness of the word
" Shame." And she said placidly :

" Come along, Stevie. You can't help that."

The docile Stevie went along; but now he
went along without pride, shamblingly, and
muttering half words, and even words that
would have been whole if they had not been
made up of halves that did not belong to each
other. It was as though he had been trying to
fit all the words he could remember to his senti-
ments in order to get some sort of correspond-
ing idea. And, as a matter of fact, he got it at
last. He hung back to utter it at once.

" Bad world for poor people."

Directly he had expressed that thought he
became aware that it was familiar to him
already in all its consequences. This circum-
stance strengthened his conviction immensely,

244 THE SECRET AGENT

but also augmented his indignation. Somebody,
he felt, ought to be punished for it punished
with great severity. Being no sceptic, but a
moral creature, he was in a manner at the mercy
of his righteous passions.

11 Beastly ! " he added concisely.

It was clear to Mrs Verloc that he was
greatly excited.

" Nobody can help that," she said. "Do
come along. Is that the way you're taking
care of me ? "

Stevie mended his pace obediently. He
prided himself on being a good brother. His
morality, which was very complete, demanded
that from him. Yet he was pained at the
information imparted by his sister Winnie
who was good. Nobody could help that ! He
came along gloomily, but presently he brightened
up. Like the rest of mankind, perplexed by
the mystery of the universe, he had his moments
of consoling trust in the organised powers of
the earth.

" Police/' he suggested confidently.

"The police aren't for that," observed Mrs
Verloc cursorily, hurrying on her way.

Stevie's face lengthened considerably. He
was thinking. The more intense his thinking,
the slacker was the droop of his lower jaw,

THE SECRET AGENT 245

And it was with an aspect of hopeless vacancy
that he gave up his intellectual enterprise.

" Not for that ? " he mumbled, resigned but
surprised. " Not for that ? " He had formed
for himself an ideal conception of the metro-
politan police as a sort of benevolent institution
for the suppression of evil. The notion of
benevolence especially was very closely as-
sociated with his sense of the power of the men
in blue. He had liked all police constables
tenderly, with a guileless trustfulness. And
he was pained. He was irritated, too, by a
suspicion of duplicity in the members of the
force. For Stevie was frank and as open as
the day himself. What did they mean by pre-
tending then ? Unlike his sister, who put her
trust in face values, he wished to go to the
bottom of the matter. He carried on his
inquiry by means of an angry challenge.

"What for are they then, Winn ? What
are they for ? Tell me."

Winnie disliked controversy. But fearing
most a fit of black depression consequent on
Stevie missing his mother very much at first,
she did not altogether decline the discussion.
Guiltless of all irony, she answered yet in a form
which was not perhaps unnatural in the wife
of Mr Verloc, Delegate of the Central Red

246 THE SECRET AGENT

Committee, personal friend of certain anarchists,
and a votary of social revolution.

" Don't you know what the police are for,
Stevie ? They are there so that them as have
nothing shouldn't take anything away from
them who have."

She avoided using the verb "to steal," be-
cause it always made her brother uncomfortable.
For Stevie was delicately honest. Certain
simple principles had been instilled into him
so anxiously (on account of his " queerness ")
that the mere names of certain transgressions
filled him with horror. He had been always
easily impressed by speeches. He was im-
pressed and startled now, and his intelligence
was very alert.

" What ? " he asked at once anxiously.
" Not even if they were hungry ? Mustn't
they?"

The two had paused in their walk.

" Not if they were ever so," said Mrs Verloc,
with the equanimity of a person untroubled by
the problem of the distribution of wealth, and
exploring the perspective of the roadway for an
omnibus of the right colour. " Certainly not.
But what's the use of talking about all that ?
You aren't ever hungry."

She cast a swift glance at the boy, like a

THE SECRET AGENT 247

young man, by her side. She saw him amiable,
attractive, affectionate, and only a little, a very
little, peculiar. And she could not see him
otherwise, for he was connected with what there
was of the salt of passion in her tasteless life
the passion of indignation, of courage, of pity,
and even of self-sacrifice. She did not add:
" And you aren't likely ever to be as long as I
live." But she might very well have done so,
since she had taken effectual steps to that end
Mr Verloc was a very good husband. It was
her honest impression that nobody could help
liking the boy. She cried out suddenly :
" Quick, Stevie. Stop that green 'bus."
And Stevie, tremulous and important with
his sister Winnie on his arm, flung up the other
high above his head at the approaching 'bus,
with complete success.

An hour afterwards Mr Verloc raised his
eyes from a newspaper he was reading, or at
anyrate looking at , behind the counter, and in
the expiring clatter of the door - bell beheld
Winnie, his wife, enter and cross the shop on
her way upstairs, followed by Stevie, his
brother-in-law. The sight of his wife was
agreeable to Mr Verloc. It was his idiosyn-
crasy. The figure of his brother-in-law re-
mained imperceptible to him because of the

248 THE SECRET AGENT

morose thoughtfulness that lately had fallen like
a veil between Mr Verloc and the appearances
of the world of senses. He looked after his wife
fixedly, without a word, as though she had been
a phantom. His voice for home use was husky
and placid, but now it was heard not at all. It
was not heard at supper, to which he was called
by his wife in the usual brief manner : " Adolf."
He sat down to consume it without conviction,
wearing his hat pushed far back on his head It
was not de\ otion to an outdoor life, but the fre-
quentation of foreign cafes which was responsible
for that habit, investing with a character of un-
ceremonious impermanency Mr Verloc's steady
fidelity to his own fireside. Twice at the
clatter of the cracked bell he arose without a
word, disappeared into the shop, and came back
silently. During these absences Mrs Verloc,
becoming acutely aware of the vacant place at
her right hand, missed her mother very much,
and stared stonily ; while Stevie, from the same
reason, kept on shuffling his feet, as though the
floor under the table were uncomfortably hot.
When Mr Verloc returned to sit in his place,
like the very embodiment of silence, the
character of Mrs Verloc's stare underwent a
subtle change, and Stevie ceased to fidget with
his feet, because of his great and awed regard

THE SECRET AGENT 249

for his sister's husband He directed at him
glances of respectful compassion. Mr Verloc
was sorry. His sister Winnie had impressed
upon him (in the omnibus) that Mr Verloc
would be found at home in a state of sorrow,
and must not be worried. His father's anger,
the irritability of gentlemen lodgers, and Mr
Verloc's predisposition to immoderate grief,
had been the main sanctions of Stevies self-
restraint. Of these sentiments, all easily pro-
voked, but not always easy to understand, the
last had the greatest moral efficiency because
Mr Verloc was good. His mother and his sister
had established that ethical fact on an unshak-
able foundation. They had established, erected,
consecrated it behind Mr Verloc's back, for
reasons that had nothing to do with abstract
morality. And Mr Verloc was not aware of it.
It is but bare justice to him to say that he had
no notion of appearing good to Stevie. Yet so
it was. He was even the only man so qualified
in Stevie's knowledge, because the gentlemen
lodgers had been too transient and too remote
to have anything very distinct about them but
perhaps their boots ; and as regards the discip-
linary measures of his father, the desolation of
his mother and sister shrank from setting up a
theory of goodness before the victim. It would

250 THE SECRET AGENT

have been too cruel. And it was even possible
that Stevie would not have believed them.
As far as Mr Verloc was concerned, nothing
could stand in the way of Stevie's belief. Mr
Verloc was obviously yet mysteriously good.
And the grief of a good man is august.

Stevie gave glances of reverential compassion
to his brother-in-law. Mr Verloc was sorry.
The brother of Winnie had never before felt
himself in such close communion with the
mystery of that man's goodness. It was an
understandable sorrow. And Stevie himself
was sorry. - He was very sorry. The same
sort of sorrow. And his attention being drawn
to this unpleasant state, Stevie shuffled his feet.
His feelings were habitually manifested by the
agitation of his limbs.

" Keep your feet quiet, dear," said Mrs Verloc,
with authority and tenderness ; then turning to-
wards her husband in an indifferent voice, the
masterly achievement of instinctive tact : " Are
you going out to-night ? " she asked.

The mere suggestion seemed repugnant to
Mr Verloc. He shook his head moodily, and
then sat still with downcast eyes, looking at the
piece of cheese on his plate for a whole minute.
At the end of that time he got up, and went out
went right out in the clatter of the shop-door

THE SECRET AGENT 251

bell. He acted thus inconsistently, not from
any desire to make himself unpleasant, but be-
cause of an unconquerable restlessness. It was
no earthly good going out. He could not find
anywhere in London what he wanted. But he
went out. He led a cortege of dismal thoughts
along dark streets, through lighted streets, in
and out of two flash bars, as if in a half-hearted
attempt to make a night of it, and finally
back again to his menaced home, where he sat
down fatigued behind the counter, and they
crowded urgently round him, like a pack of
hungry black hounds. After locking up the
house and putting out the gas he took them
upstairs with him a dreadful escort for a man
going to bed. His wife had preceded him
some time before, and with her ample form
defined vaguely under the counterpane, her
head on the pillow, and a hand under the
cheek, offered to his distraction the view of
early drowsiness arguing the possession of an
equable soul. Her big eyes stared wide open,
inert and dark against the snowy whiteness of
the linen. She did not move.

She had an equable soul. She felt profoundly
that things do not stand much looking into.
She made her force and her wisdom of that in-
stinct. But the taciturnity of Mr Verloc had

252 THE SECRET AGENT

been lying heavily upon her for a good many
days. It was, as a matter of fact, affecting her
nerves. Recumbent and motionless, she said
placidly :

" You'll catch cold walking about in your
socks like this."

This speech, becoming the solicitude of the
wife and the prudence of the woman, took Mr
Verloc unawares. He had left his boots down-
stairs, but he had forgotten to put on his
slippers, and he had been turning about the
bedroom on noiseless pads like a bear in a cage.
At the sound of his wife's voice he stopped
and stared at her with a somnambulistic, ex-
pressionless gaze so long that Mrs Verloc moved
her limbs slightly under the bed-clothes. But
she did not move her black head sunk in the
white pillow one hand under her cheek and the
big, dark, unwinking eyes.

Under her husband's expressionless stare, and
remembering her mother's empty room across
the landing, she felt an acute pang of loneliness.
She had never been parted from her mother
before. They had stood by each other. She felt
that they had, and she said to herself that now
mother was gone gone for good. Mrs Verloc
had no illusions. Stevie remained, however.
And she said :

THE SECRET AGENT 253

" Mother's done what she wanted to do.
There's no sense in it that I can see. I'm sure
she couldn't have thought you had enough of her.
It's perfectly wicked, leaving us like that."

Mr Verloc was not a well-read person ; his
range of allusive phrases was limited, but there
was a peculiar aptness in circumstances which
made him think of rats leaving a doomed
ship. He very nearly said so. He had grown
suspicious and embittered. Could it be that
the old woman had such an excellent nose?
But the unreasonableness of such a suspicion
was patent, and Mr Verloc held his tongue.
Not altogether, however. He muttered heavily :

" Perhaps it's just as well."

He began to undress. Mrs Verloc kept very
still, perfectly still, with her eyes fixed in a
dreamy, quiet stare. And her heart for the
fraction of a second seemed to stand still too.
That night she was " not quite herself," as the
saying is, and it was borne upon her with some
force that a simple sentence may hold several
diverse meanings mostly disagreeable. How
was it just as well ? And why ? But she did
not allow herself to fall into the idleness of
barren speculation. She was rather confirmed in
her belief that things did not stand being looked
into. Practical and subtle in her way, she

254 THE SECRET AGENT

brought Stevie to the front without loss of time,
because in her the singleness of purpose had the
unerring nature and the force of an instinct.

"What I am going to do to cheer up that
boy for the first few days I'm sure I don't
know. He'll be worrying himself from morn-
ing till night before he gets used to mother
being away. And he's such a good boy. I
couldn't do without him."

Mr Verloc went on divesting himself ot his
clothing with the unnoticing inward concentra-
tion of a man undressing in the solitude of a vast
and hopeless desert. For thus inhospitably
did this fair earth, our common inheritance,
present itself to the mental vision of Mr Verloc.
All was so still without and within that the
lonely ticking of the clock on the landing stole
into the room as if for the sake of company.

Mr Verloc, getting into bed on his own side,
remained prone and mute behind Mrs Verloc's
back. His thick arms rested abandoned on
the outside of the counterpane like dropped
weapons, like discarded tools. At that moment
he was within a hair's breadth of making a
clean breast of it all to his wife. The moment
seemed propitious. Looking out of the corners
of his eyes, he saw her ample shoulders draped
in white, the back of her head, with the hair

THE SECRET AGENT 255

done for the night in three plaits tied up with
black tapes at the ends. And he forbore. Mr
Verloc loved his wife as a wife should be loved
that is, maritally, with the regard one has for
one's chief possession. This head arranged
for the night, those ample shoulders, had an
aspect of familiar sacredness the sacredness of
domestic peace. She moved not, massive and
shapeless like a recumbent statue in the rough ;
he remembered her wide-open eyes looking
into the empty room. She was mysterious,
with the mysteriousness of living beings. The
far-famed secret agent A of the late Baron
Stott - Wartenheim's alarmist despatches was
not the man to break into such mysteries. He
was easily intimidated. And he was also in-
dolent, with the indolence which is so often the
secret of good nature. He forbore touching
that mystery out of love, timidity, and indolence.
There would be always time enough. For
several minutes he bore his sufferings silently
in the drowsy silence of the room. And then
he disturbed it by a resolute declaration.
" I am going on the Continent to-morrow."
His wife might have fallen asleep already.
He could not tell. As a matter of fact, Mrs
Verloc had heard him. Her eyes remained
very wide open, and she lay very still, confirmed

256 THE SECRET AGENT

in her instinctive conviction that things don't
bear looking into very much. And yet it was
nothing very unusual for Mr Verloc to take
such a trip. He renewed his stock from Paris
and Brussels. Often he went over to make
his purchases personally. A little select con-
nection of amateurs was forming around the shop
in Brett Street, a secret connection eminently
proper for any business undertaken by Mr
Verloc, who, by a mystic accord of temperament
and necessity, had been set apart to be a secret
agent all his life.

He waited for a while, then added : " I'll be
away a week or perhaps a fortnight. Get Mrs
Neale to come for the day."

Mrs Neale was the charwoman of Brett
Street. Victim of her marriage with a de-
bauched joiner, she was oppressed by the needs
of many infant children. Red -armed, and
aproned in coarse sacking up to the arm-pits,
she exhaled the anguish of the poor in a breath
of soap-suds and rum, in the uproar of scrubbing,
in the clatter of tin pails.

Mrs Verloc, full of deep purpose, spoke in the
tone of the shallowest indifference.

" There is no need to have the woman here
all day. I shall do very well with Stevie."

She let the lonely clock on the landing count

THE SECRET AGENT 257

off fifteen ticks into the abyss of eternity, and

asked :

"Shall I put the light out? "
Mr Verloc snapped at his wife huskily.
"Put it out."

IX

R VERLOC returning from the Continent
at the end often days, brought back a mind
evidently unrefreshed by the wonders of foreign
travel and a countenance unlighted by the joys
of home-coming. He entered in the clatter of
the shop bell with an air of sombre and vexed
exhaustion. His bag in hand, his head lowered,
he strode straight behind the counter, and let
himself fall into the chair, as though he had
tramped all the way from Dover. It was early
morning. Stevie, dusting various objects dis-
played in the front windows, turned to gape at
him with reverence and awe,

" Here ! " said Mr Verloc, giving a slight kick
to the gladstone bag on the floor ; and Stevie
flung himself upon it, seized it, bore it off with
triumphant devotion. He was so prompt that
Mr Verloc was distinctly surprised

Already at the clatter of the shop bell
Mrs Neale, blackleading the parlour grate, had
looked through the door, and rising from
her knees had gone, aproned, and grimy with
everlasting toil, to tell Mrs Verloc in the

358

THE SECRET AGENT 259

kitchen that "there was the master come
back."

Winnie came no farther than the inner shop
door.

" You'll want some breakfast, w she said from
a distance.

Mr Verloc moved his hands slightly, as if
overcome by an impossible suggestion. But
once enticed into the parlour he did not reject
the food set before him. He ate as if in a
public place, his hat pushed off his forehead,
the skirts of his heavy overcoat hanging in a
triangle on each side of the chair. And across
the length of the table covered with brown oil-
cloth Winnie, his wife, talked evenly at him
the wifely talk, as artfully adapted, no doubt,
to the circumstances of this return as the talk
of Penelope to the return of the wandering
Odysseus. Mrs Verloc, however, had done no
weaving during her husband's absence. But
she had had all the upstairs room cleaned
thoroughly, had sold some wares, had seen Mr
Michaelis several times. He had told her the
last time that he was going away to live in a
cottage in the country, somewhere on the
London, Chatham, and Dover line. Karl
Yundt had come too, once, led under the arm by
that " wicked old housekeeper of his/' He was

260 THE SECRET AGENT

"a disgusting old man." Of Comrade Ossipon,
whom she had received curtly, entrenched
behind the counter with a stony face and a far-
away gaze, she said nothing, her mental refer-
ence to the robust anarchist being marked by a
short pause, with the faintest possible blush.
And bringing in her brother Stevie as soon as
she could into the current of domestic events, she
mentioned that the boy had moped a good deal.

" It's all along of mother leaving us like this."

Mr Verloc neither said "Damn! nor yet
"Stevie be hanged!" And Mrs Verloc, not
let into the secret of his thoughts, failed to
appreciate the generosity of this restraint.

"It isn't that he doesn't work as well as
ever," she continued. " He's been making
himself very useful. You'd think he couldn't
do enough for us."

Mr Verloc directed a casual and somnolent
glance at Stevie, who sat on his right, delicate,
pale-faced, his rosy mouth open vacantly. It
was not a critical glance. It had no intention.
And if Mr Verloc thought for a moment that
his wife's brother looked uncommonly useless,
it was only a dull and fleeting thought, devoid
of that force and durability which enables some-
times a thought to move the world. Leaning
back, Mr Verloc uncovered his head. Before

THE SECRET AGENT 261

his extended arm could put down the hat Stevie
pounced upon it, and bore it off reverently
into the kitchen. And again Mr Verloc was
surprised.

"You could do anything with that boy,
Adolph," Mrs Verloc said, with her best air of
inflexible calmness. " He would go through
fire for you. He "

She paused attentive, her ear turned towards
the door of the kitchen.

There Mrs Neale was scrubbing the floor.
At Stevie's appearance she groaned lament-
ably, having observed that he could be induced
easily to bestow for the benefit of her infant
children the shilling his sister Winnie presented
him with from time to time. On all fours
amongst the puddles, wet and begrimed, like a
sort of amphibious and domestic animal living
in ash-bins and dirty water, she uttered the usual
exordium . " It's all very well for you, kept doing
nothing like a gentleman." And she followed
it with the everlasting plaint of the poor,
pathetically mendacious, miserably authenticated
by the horrible breath of cheap rum and soap-
suds. She scrubbed hard, snuffling all the time,
and talking volubly. And she was sincere. And
on each side of her thin red nose her bleared,
misty eyes swam in tears, because she felt really

262 THE SECRET AGENT

the want of some sort of stimulant in the
morning.

In the parlour Mrs Verloc observed, with
knowledge :

"There's Mrs Neale at it again with her
harrowing tales about her little children. They
can't be all so little as she makes them out.
Some of them must be big enough by now to try
to do something for themselves. It only makes
Stevie angry."

These words were confirmed by a thud as of
a fist striking the kitchen table. In the nor-
mal evolution of his sympathy Stevie had
become angry on discovering that he had no
shilling in his pocket. In his inability to re-
lieve at once Mrs Neale's " little 'uns' " privations
he felt that somebody should be made to suffer
for it. Mrs Verloc rose, and went into the
kitchen to "stop that nonsense." And she did
it firmly but gently. She was well aware that
directly Mrs Neale received her money she
went round the corner to drink ardent spirits
in a mean and musty public-house the un-
avoidable station on the via dolorosa of her life.
Mrs Verloc's comment upon this practice had an
unexpected profundity, as coming from a person
disinclined to look under the surface of things.
"Of course, what is she to do to keep up?

THE SECRET AGENT 268

If I were like Mrs Neale I expect I wouldn't
act any different"

In the afternoon of the same day, as Mr
Verloc, coming with a start out of the last
of a long series of dozes before the parlour fire,
declared his intention of going out for a walk,
Winnie said from the shop :

" I wish you would take that boy out with
you, Adolf."

For the third time that day Mr Verloc was
surprised. He stared stupidly at his wife.
She continued in her steady manner. The
boy, whenever he was not doing anything,
moped in the house. It made her uneasy ; it
made her nervous, she confessed And that from
the calm Winnie sounded like exaggeration.
But, in truth, Stevie moped in the striking
fashion of an unhappy domestic animal. He
would go up on the dark landing, to sit on the
floor at the foot of the tall clock, with his knees
drawn up and his head in his hands. To come
upon his pallid face, with its big eyes gleaming
in the dusk, was discomposing ; to think of him
up there was uncomfortable.

Mr Verloc got used to the startling novelty of
the idea. He was fond of his wife as a man should
be that is, generously. But a weighty objection
presented itself to his mind, and he formulated it.

264 THE SECRET AGENT

" He'll lose sight of me perhaps, and get lost
in the street," he said.

Mrs Verloc shook her head competently.

" He won't. You don't know him. That
boy just worships you. But if you should miss
him "

Mrs Verloc paused for a moment, but only
for a moment.

" You just go on, and have your walk out.
Don't worry. He'll be all right. He's sure
to turn up safe here before very long."

This optimism procured for Mr Verloc his
fourth surprise of the day.

" Is he?" he grunted doubtfully. But per-
haps his brother-in-law was not such an idiot
as he looked. His wife would know best.
He turned away his heavy eyes, saying huskily :
"Well, let him come along then," and relapsed
into the clutches of black care, that perhaps
prefers to sit behind a horseman, but knows
also how to tread close on the heels of people
not sufficiently well off to keep horses like
Mr Verloc, for instance.

Winnie, at the shop door, did not see this
fatal attendant upon Mr Verloc's walks. She
watched the two figures down the squalid street,
one tall and burly, the other slight and short,
with a thin neck, and the peaked shoulders raised

THE SECRET AGENT 265

slightly under the large semi-transparent ears.
The material of their overcoats was the same,
their hats were black and round in shape. In-
spired by the similarity of wearing apparel,
Mrs Verloc gave rein to her fancy.

" Might be father and son/' she said to her-
self. She thought also that Mr Verloc was as
much of a father as poor Stevie ever had in
his life. She was aware also that it was her
work. And with peaceful pride she congratu-
lated herself on a certain resolution she had
taken a few years before. It had cost her some
effort, and even a few tears.

She congratulated herself still more on observ-
ing in the course of days that Mr Verloc
seemed to be taking kindly to Stevie's com-
panionship. Now, when ready to go out for
his walk, Mr Verloc called aloud to the boy, in
the spirit, no doubt, in which a man invites the
attendance of the household dog, though, of
course, in a different manner. In the house Mr
Verloc could be detected staring curiously at
Stevie a good deal. His own demeanour had
changed. Taciturn still, he was not so listless.
Mrs Verloc thought that he was rather jumpy
at times. It might have been regarded as an
improvement. As to Stevie, he moped no
longer at the foot of the clock, but muttered to

266 THE SECRET AGENT

himself in corners instead in a threatening
tone. When asked " What is it you're saying,
Stevie?" he merely opened his mouth, and
squinted at his sister. At odd times he clenched
his fists without apparent cause, and when dis-
covered in solitude would be scowling at the
wall, with the sheet of paper and the pencil
given him for drawing circles lying blank and
idle on the kitchen table. This was a change,
but it was no improvement. Mrs Verloc includ-
ing all these vagaries under the general defini-
tion of excitement, began to fear that Stevie
was hearing, more than was good for him of
her husband's conversations with his friends.
During his " walks " Mr Verloc, of course, met
and conversed with various persons. It could
hardly be otherwise. His walks were an
integral part of his outdoor activities, which his
wife had never looked deeply into. Mrs Verloc
felt that the position was delicate, but she faced
it with the same impenetrable calmness which
impressed and even astonished the customers of
the shop and made the other visitors keep their
distance a little wonderingly. No ! she feared
that there were things not good for Stevie to
hear of, she told her husband. It only excited
the poor boy, because he could not help them
being so. Nobody could.

THE SECRET AGENT 267

It was in the shop. Mr Verloc made no
comment. He made no retort, and yet the
retort was obvious. But he refrained from
pointing out to his wife that the idea of making
Stevie the companion of his walks was her
own, and nobody else's. At that moment, to an
impartial observer, Mr Verloc would have
appeared more than human in his magnanimity.
He took down a small cardboard box from a
shelf, peeped in to see that the contents were
all right, and put it down gently on the counter.
Not till that was done did he break the silence,
to the effect that most likely Stevie would
profit greatly by being sent out of town for a
while ; only he supposed his wife could not get
on without him.

"Could not get on without him!" repeated
Mrs Verloc slowly. " I couldn't get on without
him if it were for his good! The idea! Of
course, I can get on without him. But there's
nowhere for him to go."

Mr Verloc got out some brown paper and a
ball of string ; and meanwhile he muttered that
Michaelis was living in a little cottage in the
country. Michaelis wouldn't mind giving
Stevie a room to sleep in. There were no
visitors and no talk there. Michaelis was writ-
ing a book.

268 THE SECRET AGENT

Mrs Verloc declared her affection for
Michaelis ; mentioned her abhorrence of Karl
Yundt, "nasty old man " ; and of Ossipon she said
nothing. As to Stevie, he could be no other
than very pleased. Mr Michaelis was always so
nice and kind to him. He seemed to like the
boy. Well, the boy was a good boy.

" You too seem to have grown quite fond of
him of late," she added, after a pause, with her
inflexible assurance.

Mr Verloc tying up the cardboard box into a
parcel for the post, broke the string by an
injudicious jerk, and muttered several swear
words confidentially to himself. Then raising
his tone to the usual husky mutter, he announced
his willingness to take Stevie into the country
himself, and leave him all safe with Michaelis.

He carried out this scheme on the very next
day. Stevie offered no objection. He seemed
rather eager, in a bewildered sort of way.
He turned his candid gaze inquisitively to
Mr Verloc's heavy countenance at frequent
intervals, especially when his sister was not
looking at him. His expression was proud,
apprehensive, and concentrated, like that of a
small child entrusted for the first time with
a box of matches and the permission to strike a
light. But Mrs Verloc, gratified by her brother's

THE SECRET AGENT 269

docility, recommended him not to dirty his clothes
unduly in the country. At this Stevie gave
his sister, guardian and protector a look, which
for the first time in his life seemed to lack the
quality of perfect childlike trustfulness. It was
haughtily gloomy. Mrs Verloc smiled.

"Goodness me! You needn't be offended.
You know you do get yourself very untidy when
you get a chance, Stevie."

Mr Verloc was already gone some way down
the street.

Thus in consequence of her mother's heroic
proceedings, and of her brother's absence on this
vUlegiature, Mrs Verloc found herself oftener
thanTusual all alone not only in the shop, but in
the house. For Mr Verloc had to take his walks.
She was alone longer than usual on the day of
the attempted bomb outrage in Greenwich Park,
because Mr Verloc went out very early that
morning and did not come back till nearly dusk.
She did not mind being alone. She had no desire
to go out. The weather was too bad, and the
shop was cosier than the streets. Sitting behind
the counter with some sewing, she did not raise
her eyes from her work when Mr Verloc entered
in the aggressive clatter of the bell. She
had recognised his step on the pavement out-
side.

270 THE SECRET AGENT

She did not raise her eyes, but as Mr Verloc,
silent, and with his hat rammed down upon his
forehead, made straight for the parlour door,
she said serenely :

"What a wretched day. You've been per-
haps to see Stevie ? "

" No ! I haven't," said Mr Verloc softly, and
slammed the glazed parlour door behind him
with unexpected energy.

For some time Mrs Verloc remained quiescent,
with her work dropped in her lap, before she
put it away under the counter and got up to light
the gas. Tljis done, she went into the parlour
on her way to the kitchen, Mr Verloc would
want his tea presently. Confident of the power
of her charms, Winnie did not expect from her
husband in the daily intercourse of their married
life a ceremonious amenity of address and courtli-
ness of manner ; vain and antiquated forms at
best, probably never very exactly observed, dis-
carded nowadays even in the highest spheres,
and always foreign to the standards of her class.
She did not look for courtesies from him. But
he was a good husband, and she had a loyal re-
spect for his rights.

Mrs Verloc would have gone through the
parlour and on to her domestic duties in the
kitchen with the perfect serenity of a woman

THE SECRET AGENT 271

sure of the power of her charms. But a slight,
very slight, and rapid rattling sound grew upon
her hearing. Bizarre and incomprehensible, it
arrested Mrs Verloc's attention. Then as its
character became plain to the ear she stopped
short, amazed and concerned. Striking a match
on the box she held in her hand, she turned on
and lighted, above the parlour table, one of the
two gas-burners, which, being defective, first
whistled as if astonished, and then went on
purring comfortably like a cat.

Mr Verloc, against his usual practice, had
thrown off his overcoat. It was lying on the
sofa. His hat, which he must also have thrown
off, rested overturned under the edge of the sofa.
He had dragged a chair in front of the fireplace,
and his feet planted inside the fender, his head
held between his hands, he was hanging low
over the glowing grate. His teeth rattled with
an ungovernable violence, causing his whole
enormous back to tremble at the same rate.
Mrs Verloc was startled.

"You've been getting wet," she said.

" Not very," Mr Verloc managed to falter out,
in a profound shudder. By a great effort he
suppressed the rattling of his teeth.

" I'll have you laid up on my hands," she said,
with genuine uneasiness,

272 THE SECRET AGENT

"I don't think so," remarked Mr Verloc,
snuffling huskily.

He had certainly contrived somehow to catch
an abominable cold between seven in the morn-
ing and five in the afternoon. Mrs Verloc
looked at his bowed back.

" Where have you been to-day ? " she asked.

" Nowhere," answered Mr Verloc in a low,
choked nasal tone. His attitude suggested
aggrieved sulks or a severe headache. The
unsufficiency and uncandidness of his answer
became painfully apparent in the dead silence
of the room. He snuffled apologetically, and
added : " I've been to the bank."

Mrs Verloc became attentive.

" You have ! " she said dispassionately.
"What for?"

Mr Verloc mumbled, with his nose over the
grate, and with marked unwillingness.

" Draw the money out ! "

" What do you mean ? All of it ? "

"Yes. All of it."

Mrs Verloc spread out with care the scanty
table-cloth, got two knives and two forks out
of the table drawer, and suddenly stopped in
her methodical proceedings.

" What did you do that for ? "

"May want it soon," snuffled vaguely Mr

THE SECRET AGENT 273

Verloc, who was coming to the end of his
calculated indiscretions.

" I don't know what you mean/ 1 remarked
his wife in a tone perfectly casual, but standing
stock still between the table and the cupboard.

44 You know you can trust me/ 1 Mr Verloc
remarked to the grate, with hoarse feeling.

Mrs Verloc turned slowly towards the cup-
board, saying with deliberation :

" Oh yes. I can trust you/'

And she went on with her methodical pro-
ceedings. She laid two plates, got the bread,
the butter, going to and fro quietly between
the table and the cupboard in the peace and
silence of her home. On the point of taking
out the jam, she reflected practically : " He will
be feeling hungry, having been away all day,"
and she returned to the cupboard once more to
get the cold beef. She set it under the purring
gas-jet, and with a passing glance at her motion-
less husband hugging the fire, she went (down
two steps) into the kitchen. It was only when
coming back, carving knife and fork in hand,
that she spoke again.

" If I hadn't trusted you I wouldn't have
married you/'

Bowed under the overmantel, Mr Verloc,
holding his head in both hands, seemed to

274 THE SECRET AGENT

gone to sleep. Winnie made the tea, and called
out in an undertone :

" Adolf."

Mr Verloc got up at once, and staggered a
little before he sat down at the table. His wife
examining the sharp edge of the carving knife,
placed it on the dish, and called his attention to
the cold beef. He remained insensible to the
suggestion, with his chin on his breast.

"You should feed your cold," Mrs Verloc
said dogmatically.

He looked up, and shook his head. His eyes
were bloodshot and his face red. His fingers
had ruffled his hair into a dissipated untidiness.
Altogether he had a disreputable aspect, expres-
sive of the discomfort, the irritation and the
gloom following a heavy debauch. But Mr
Verloc was not a debauched man. In his
conduct he was respectable. His appearance
might have been the effect of a feverish cold.
He drank three cups of tea, but abstained
from food entirely. He recoiled from it with
sombre aversion when urged by Mrs Verloc,
who said at last:

" Aren't your feet wet ? You had better put
on your slippers. You aren't going out any
more this evening."

Mr Verloc intimated by morose grunts and

THE SECRET AGENT 275

signs that his feet were not wet, and that any-
how he did not care. The proposal as to
slippers was disregarded as beneath his notice.
But the question of going oui in the evening
received an unexpected development. It was
not of going out in the evening that Mr Verloc
was thinking. His thoughts embraced a vaster
scheme. From moody and incomplete phrases
it became apparent that Mr Verloc had been
considering the expediency of emigrating. It
was not very clear whether he had in his mind
France or California.

The utter unexpectedness, improbability, and
inconceivableness of such an event robbed this
vague declaration of all its effect. Mrs Verloc,
as placidly as if her husband had been threaten-
ing her with the end of the world, said :

" The idea ! *

Mr Verloc declared himself sick and tired of

everything, and besides She interrupted

him.

" You've a bad cold"

It was indeed obvious that Mr Verloc was
not in his usual state, physically and even
mentally. A sombre irresolution held him
silent for a while. Then he murmured a few
ominous generalities on the theme of necessity.

"Will have to," repeated Winnie, sitting calmly

276 THE SECRET AGENT

back, with folded arms, opposite her husband.
" I should like to know who's to make you.
You ain't a slave. No one need be a slave in
this country and don't you make yourself
one." She paused, and with invincible and
steady candour. " The business isn't so bad,"
she went on. " You've a comfortable home."

She glanced all round the parlour, from the
corner cupboard to the good fire in the grate.
Ensconced cosily behind the shop of doubtful
wares, with the mysteriously dim window, and
its door suspiciously ajar in the obscure and
narrow street, it was in all essentials of domes-
tic propriety and domestic comfort a respect-
able home. Her devoted affection missed out
of it her brother Stevie, now enjoying a damp
villegiature in the Kentish lanes under the care
of Mr Michaelis. She missed him poignantly,
with all the force of her protecting passion.
This was the boy's home too the roof, the
cupboard, the stoked grate. On this thought
Mrs Verloc rose, and walking to the other end
of the table, said in the fulness of her heart :

" And you are not tired of me."

Mr Verloc made no sound. Winnie leaned
on his shoulder from behind, and pressed her
lips to his forehead. Thus she lingered. Not
a whisper reached them from the outside world

THE SECRET AGENT 277

The sound of footsteps on the pavement died out
in the discreet dimness of the shop. Only the
gas-jet above the table went on purring equably
in the brooding silence of the parlour.

During the contact of that unexpected and
lingering kiss Mr Verloc, gripping with both
hands the edges of his chair, preserved a
hieratic immobility. When the pressure was
removed he let go the chair, rose, and went to
stand before the fireplace. He turned no longer
his back to the room. With his features swollen
and an air of being drugged, he followed his
wife's movements with his eyes.

Mrs Verloc went about serenely, clearing up
the table. Her tranquil voice commented the
idea thrown out in a reasonable and domestic
tone. It wouldn't stand examination. She
condemned it from every point of view. But
her only real concern was Stevie's welfare.
He appeared to her thought in that connection
as sufficiently "peculiar " not to be taken rashly
abroad. And that was all. But talking round
that vital point, she approached absolute vehem-
ence in her delivery. Meanwhile, with brusque
movements, she arrayed herself in an apron for
the washing up of cups. And as if excited by
the sound of her uncontradicted voice, she went
so far as to say in a tone almost tart :

278 THE SECRET AGENT

" If you go abroad you'll have to go with-

out me."

"You know I wouldn't/' said Mr Verloc
huskily, and the unresonant voice of his private
life trembled with an enigmatical emotion.

Already Mrs Verloc was regretting her
words. They had sounded more unkind than
she meant them to be. They had also the un-
wisdom of unnecessary things. In fact, she
had not meant them at all. It was a sort of
phrase that is suggested by the demon of per-
verse inspiration. But she knew a way to
make it as if it had not been.

She turned her head over her shoulder and
gave that man planted heavily in front of the
fireplace a glance, half arch, half cruel, out of
her large eyes a glance of which the Winnie
of the Belgravian mansion days would have
been incapable, because of her respectability and
her ignorance. But the man was her husband
now, and she was no longer ignorant. She kept
it on him for a whole second, with her grave face
motionless like a mask, while she said playfully :

"You couldn't. Youwould miss me too much."

Mr Verloc started forward.

" Exactly," he said in a louder tone, throwing
his arms out and making a step towards her.
Something* wild and doubtful in his expression

THE SEC&ET AGENT 279

made it appear uncertain whether he meant to
strangle or to embrace his wife. But Mrs
Verloc's attention was called away from that
manifestation by the clatter of the shop bell.

"Shop, Adolf. You go."

He stopped, his arms came down slowly.

" You go/' repeated Mrs Verloc. " I've got
my apron on."

Mr Verloc obeyed woodenly, stony-eyed,
and like an automaton whose face had been
painted red. And this resemblance to a
mechanical figure went so far that he had an
automaton's absurd air of being aware of the
machinery inside of him.

He closed the parlour door, and Mrs Verloc
moving briskly, carried the tray into the kitchen.
She washed the cups and some other things
before she stopped in her work to listen. No
sound reached her. The customer was a long
time in the shop. It was a customer, because
if he had not been Mr Verloc would have taken
him inside. Undoing the strings of her apron
with a jerk, she threw it on a chair, and walked
back to the parlour slowly.

At that precise moment Mr Verloc entered
from the shop.

He had gone in red. He came out a strange
papery white. His face, losing its drugged,

280 THE SECftfit AGENT

feverish stupor, had in that short time acquired
a bewildered and harassed expression. He
walked straight to the sofa, and stood looking
down at his overcoat lying there, as though
he were afraid to touch it.

" What's the matter ? " asked Mrs Verloc in
a subdued voice. Through the door left ajar she
could see that the customer was not gone yet.

" I find I'll have to go out this evening,"
said Mr Verloc. He did not attempt to pick
up his outer garment.

Without a word Winnie made for the shop,
and shutting the door after her, walked in behind
the counter. She did not look overtly at the
customer till she had established herself com-
fortably on the chair. But by that time she
had noted that he was tall and thin, and wore
his moustaches twisted up. In fact, he gave
the sharp points a twist just then. His long,
bony face rose out of a turned-up collar. He
was a little splashed, a little wet. A dark man,
with the ridge of the cheek-bone well defined
under the slightly hollow temple. A complete
stranger. Not a customer either.

Mrs Verloc looked at him placidly.

"You came over from the Continent?" she
said after a time.

The long, thin stranger, without exactly look-

THE SECRET AGENT 281

ing at Mrs Verloc, answered only by a faint
and peculiar smile.

Mrs Verloc's steady, incurious gaze rested
on him.

"You understand English, don't you?"

"Oh yes. I understand English/'

There was nothing foreign in his accent,
except that he seemed in his slow enunciation
to be taking pains with it. And Mrs Verloc,
in her varied experience, had come to the
conclusion that some foreigners could speak
better English than the natives. She said,
looking at the door of the parlour fixedly :

"You don't think perhaps of staying in
England for good?"

The stranger gave her again a silent smile.
He had a kindly mouth and probing eyes. And
he shook his head a little sadly, it seemed.

" My husband will see you through all right.
Meantime for a few days you couldn't do better
than take lodgings with Mr Giugliani. Conti-
nental Hotel it's called. Private. It's quiet.
My husband will take you there."

" A good idea," said the thin, dark man, whose
glance had hardened suddenly.

"You knew Mr Verloc before didn't you?
Perhaps in France ? "

11 1 have heard of him," admitted the visitor

282 THE SECRET AGENT

in his slow, painstaking tone, which yet had a
certain curtness of intention.

There was a pause. Then he spoke again,
in a far less elaborate manner.

" Your husband has not gone out to wait for
me in the street by chance ? "

" In the street ! " repeated Mrs Verloc, sur-
prised. " He couldn't. There's no other door
to the house/'

For a moment she sat impassive, then left her
seat to go and peep through the glazed door.
Suddenly she opened it, and disappeared into
the parlour..

Mr Verloc had done no more than put on
his overcoat. But why he should remain after-
wards leaning over the table propped up on his
two arms as though he were feeling giddy or sick,
she could not understand. "Adolf," she called
out half aloud; and when he had raised himself:

" Do you know that man ? " she asked rapidly.

" I've heard of him," whispered uneasily Mr
Verloc, darting a wild glance at the door.

Mrs Verloc's fine, incurious eyes lighted up
with a flash of abhorrence.

"One of Karl Yundt's friends beastly old

man."

" No ! No ! " protested Mr Verloc, busy fish-
ing for his hat. But when he got it from under

THE SECRET AGENT 283

the sofa he held it as if he did not know the
use of a hat.

"Well he's waiting for you/* said Mrs Verloc
at last. " I say, Adolf, he ain't one of them
Embassy people you have been bothered with
of late?"

" Bothered with Embassy people," repeated
Mr Verloc, with a heavy start of surprise and
fear. " Who's been talking to you of the
Embassy people?"

-Yourself."

- I ! I ! Talked of the Embassy to you ! "

Mr Verloc seemed scared and bewildered
beyond measure. His wife explained :

"You've been talking a little in your sleep
of late, Adolf."

" What what did I say ? What do you
know?"

" Nothing much. It seemed mostly nonsense.
Enough to let me guess that something worried
you."

Mr Verloc rammed his hat on his head, A
crimson flood of anger ran over his face.

" Nonsense eh ? The Embassy people ! I
would cut their hearts out one after another.
But let them look out. I've got a tongue in
my head."

He fumed, pacing up and down between the

284 THE SECRET AGENT

table and the sofa, his open overcoat catching
against the angles. The red flood of anger
ebbed out, and left his face all white, with
quivering nostrils. Mrs Verloc, for the purposes
of practical existence, put down these appear-
ances to the cold.

"Well/* she said, "get rid of the man, who-
ever he is, as soon as you can, and come-back
home to me. You want looking after for a day
or two/'

Mr Verloc calmed down, and, with resolution
imprinted on his pale face, had already openedthe
door, when his wife called him back in a whisper:

" Adolf! Adolf!" He came back startled.
"What about that money you drew out?" she
asked You've got it in your pocket ? Hadn't
you better "

Mr Verloc gazed stupidly into the palm of
his wife's extended hand for some time before
he slapped his brow.

"Money ! Yes ! Yes ! I didn't know what
you meant. *

He drew out of his breast pocket a new
pigskin pocket-book. Mrs Verloc received it
without another word, and stood still till the
bell, clattering after Mr Verloc and Mr Verloc's
visitor, had quieted down. Only then she
peeped in at the amount, drawing the notes

THE SECRET AGENT 285

out for the purpose. After this inspection
she looked round thoughtfully, with an air of
mistrust in the silence and solitude of the house.
This abode of her married life appeared to her
as lonely and unsafe as though it had been
situated in the midst of a forest. No receptacle
she could think of amongst the solid, heavy
furniture seemed other but flimsy and particu-
larly tempting to her conception of a house-
breaker. It was an ideal conception, endowed
with sublime faculties and a miraculous insight.
The till was not to be thought of. It was the
first spot a thief would make for. Mrs Verloc
unfastening hastily a couple of hooks, slipped
the pocket-book under the bodice of her dress.
Having thus disposed of her husband's capital,
she was rather glad to hear the clatter of the
door bell, announcing an arrival. Assuming
the fixed, unabashed stare and the stony expres-
sion reserved for the casual customer, she walked
in behind the counter.

A man standing in the middle of the shop
was inspecting it with a swift, cool, all-round
glance. His eyes ran over the walls, took in
the ceiling, noted the floor all in a moment.
The points of a long fair moustache fell below
the line of the jaw. He smiled the smile of an
old if distant acquaintance, and Mrs Verloc

286 THE SECRET AGENT

remembered having seen him before. Not a
customer. She softened her "customer stare"
to mere indifference, and faced him across the
counter.

He approached, on his side, confidentially,
but not too markedly so.

" Husband at home, Mrs Verloc ? " he asked
in an easy, full tone.

" No. He's gone out."

" I am sorry for that. I've called to get from
him a little private information."

This was the exact truth. Chief Inspector
Heat had been all the way home, and had even
gone so far as to think of getting into his slippers,
since practically he was, he told himself, chucked
out of that case. He indulged in some scornful
and in a few angry thoughts, and found the oc-
cupation so unsatisfactory that he resolved to
seek relief out of doors. Nothing prevented
him paying a friendly call to Mr Verloc, casually
as it were. It was in the character of a private
citizen that walking out privately he made use of
his customary conveyances. Their general direc-
tion was towards Mr Verloc's home. Chief In-
spector Heat respected his own private character
so consistently that he took especial pains to
avoid all the police constables on point and
patrol duty in the vicinity of Brett Street. This

THE SECRET AGENT 287

precaution was much more necessary for a man
of his standing than for an obscure Assistant
Commissioner. Private Citizen Heat entered
the street, manoeuvring in a way which in a
member of the criminal classes would have been
stigmatised as slinking. The piece of cloth
picked up in Greenwich was in his pocket.
Not that he had the slightest intention of
producing it in his private capacity. On the
contrary, he wanted to know just what Mr
Verloc would be disposed to say voluntarily.
He hoped Mr Verloc's talk would be of a nature
to incriminate Michaelis. It was a conscien-
tiously professional hope in the main, but
not without its moral value. For Chief In-
spector Heat was a servant of justice. Find-
Mr Verloc from home, he felt disappointed.

" I would wait for him a little if I were sure
he wouldn't be long," he said

Mrs Verloc volunteered no assurance of any
kind.

" The information I need is quite private,"
he repeated. " You understand what I mean ?
I wonder if you could give me a notion where
he's gone to ? "

Mrs Verloc shook her head.

say.
She turned away to range some boxes on

288 THE SECRET AGENT

the shelves behind the counter. Chief Inspector
Heat looked at her thoughtfully for a time.

" I suppose you know who I am ? " he said.

Mrs Verloc glanced over her shoulder.
Chief Inspector Heat was amazed at her
coolness.

"Come! You know I am in the police," he
said sharply.

" I don't trouble my head much about it,"
Mrs Verloc remarked, returning to the ranging
of her boxes.

"My name is Heat. Chief Inspector Heat
of the Special Crimes section."

Mrs Verloc adjusted nicely in its place a small
cardboard box, and turning round, faced him
again, heavy-eyed, with idle hands hanging
down. A silence reigned for a time.

" So your husband went out a quarter of an
hour ago ! And he didn't say when he would
be back?"

" He didn't go out alone," Mrs Verloc let fall
negligently.

" A friend ? "

Mrs Verloc touched the back of her hair. It
was in perfect order.

"A stranger who called."

" I see. What sort of man was that stranger ?
Would you mind telling me ? "

THE SECRET AGENT 289

Mrs Verloc did not mind. And when Chief
Inspector Heat heard of a man dark, thin, with
a long face and turned up moustaches, he gave
signs of perturbation, and exclaimed:

" Dash me if I didn't think so ! He hasn't
lost any time."

He was intensely disgusted in the secrecy
of his heart at the unofficial conduct of
his immediate chief. But he was not quix-
otic. He lost all desire to await Mr Ver-
loc's return. What they had gone out for
he did not know, but he imagined it pos-
sible that they would return together. The
case is not followed properly, it's being tampered
with, he thought bitterly.

" I am afraid I haven't time to wait for your
husband," he said.

Mrs Verloc received this declaration listlessly.
Her detachment had impressed Chief Inspector
Heat all along. At this precise moment it
whetted his curiosity. Chief Inspector Heat
hung in the wind, swayed by his passions like
the most private of citizens.

" I think," he said, looking at her steadily,
" that you could give me a pretty good notion
of what's going on if you liked."

Forcing her fine, inert eyes to return his
gaze, Mrs Verloc murmured;
T

290 THE SECRET AGENT

" Going on ! What is going on ? "

" Why, the affair I came to talk about a little
with your husband. "

That day Mrs Verloc had glanced at a morn-
ing paper as usual But she had not stirred
out of doors. The newsboys never invaded
Brett Street It was not a street for their busi-
ness. And the echo of their cries drifting along
the populous thoroughfares, expired between the
dirty brick walls without reaching the threshold
of the shop. Her husband had not brought an
evening paper home. At anyrate she had not
seen it. Mrs Verloc knew nothing whatever of
any affair. And she said so, with a genuine
note of wonder in her quiet voice.

Chief Inspector Heat did not believe for a
moment in so much ignorance. Curtly, with-
out amiability, he stated the bare fact.

Mrs Verloc turned away her eyes.

" I call it silly/' she pronounced slowly.
She paused. "We ain't downtrodden slaves
here/'

The Chief Inspector waited watchfully. No-
thing more came.

" And your husband didn't mention anything
to you when he came home ? "

Mrs Verloc simply turned her face from right
to left in sign of negation. A languid, baffling

THE SECRET AGENT 291

silence reigned in the shop. Chief Inspector
Heat felt provoked beyond endurance.

" There was another small matter," he began
in a detached tone, " which I wanted to speak
to your husband about. There came into our
hands a a what we believe is a stolen

overcoat."

Mrs Verloc, with her mind specially aware of
thieves that evening, touched lightly the bosom
of her dress.

" We have lost no overcoat/* she said calmly.

" That's funny," continued Private Citizen
Heat. " I see you keep a lot of marking ink
here "

He took up a small bottle, and looked at it
against the gas-jet in the middle of the
shop.

" Purple isn't it ? " he remarked, setting it
down again. "As I said, it's strange.
Because the overcoat has got a label sewn on
the inside with your address written in marking
ink."

Mrs Verloc leaned over the counter with a
low exclamation.

" That's my brother's, then."

" Where's your brother ? Can I see him ? "
asked the Chief Inspector briskly. Mrs Verloc
leaned a little more over the counter.

292 THE SECRET AGENT

"No. He isn't here. 1 wrote that label
myself."

"Where's your brother now?"

" He's been away living with a friend in
the country."

"The overcoat comes from the country.
And what's the name of the friend ? "

" Michaelis," confessed Mrs Verloc in an awed
whisper.

The Chief Inspector let out a whistle. His
eyes snapped.

"Just so. Capital. And your brother now,
what's he like a sturdy, darkish chap
eh?"

"Oh no/' exclaimed Mrs Verloc fervently.
"That must be the thief. Stevie's slight and
fair."

"Good," said the Chief Inspector in an ap-
proving tone. And while Mrs Verloc, wavering
between alarm and wonder, stared at him, he
sought for information. Why have the address
sewn like this inside the coat ? And he heard
that the mangled remains he had inspected that
morning with extreme repugnance were those
of a youth, nervous, absent-minded, peculiar, and
also that the woman who was speaking to him
had had the charge of that boy since he was a
baby.

THE SECRET AGENT 293

"Easily excitable ?" he suggested.

"Oh yes. He is. But how did he come to
lose his coat "

Chief Inspector Heat suddenly pulled out a
pink newspaper he had bought less than half-
an-hour ago. He was interested in horses.
Forced by his calling into an attitude of doubt
and suspicion towards his fellow-citizens, Chief
Inspector Heat relieved the instinct of credulity
implanted in the human breast by putting un-
bounded faith in the sporting prophets of that
particular evening publication. Dropping the
extra special on to the counter, he plunged his
hand again into his pocket, and pulling out the
piece of cloth fate had presented him with out
of a heap of things that seemed to have been
collected in shambles and rag shops, he offered
it to Mrs Verloc for inspection.

"I suppose you recognise this?' 1

She took it mechanically in both her hands.
Her eyes seemed to grow bigger as she looked.

"Yes," she whispered, then raised her head,
and staggered backward a little.

"Whatever for is it torn out like this?"

The Chief Inspector snatched across the
counter the cloth out of her hands, and she sat
heavily on the chair. He thought : identifica-
tion s perfect. And in that moment he had a

294 THE SECRET AGENT

glimpse into the whole amazing truth. Verloc
was the "other man."

"Mrs Verloc," he said, "it strikes me that
you know more of this bomb affair than even
you yourself are aware of."

Mrs Verloc sat still, amazed, lost in boundless
astonishment What was the connection ? And
she became so rigid all over that she was not
able to turn her head at the clatter of the bell,
which caused theprivate investigator Heat to spin
round on his heel. Mr Verloc had shut the door,
and for a moment the two men looked at each
other.

Mr Verloc, without looking at his wife, walked
up to the Chief Inspector, who was relieved to
see him return alone.

"You here!" muttered Mr Verloc heavily.
"Who are you after?"

"No one/' said Chief Inspector Heat in a
low tone. "Look here, I would like a word
or two with you."

Mr Verloc, still pale, had brought an air of
resolution with him. Still he didn't look at his
wife. He said :

"Come in here, then." And he led the way
into the parlour.

The door was hardly shut when Mrs Verloc,
jumping up from the chair, ran to it as if to

THE SECRET AGENT 295

fling it open, but instead of doing so fell on
her knees, with her ear to the keyhole. The
two men must have stopped directly they were
through, because she heard plainly the Chief
Inspector's voice, though she could not see his
finger pressed against her husband's breast em-
phatically.

"You are the other man, Verloc. Two men
were seen entering the park."

And the voice of Mr Verloc said :

"Well, take me now. What's to prevent
you ? You have the right."

" Oh no ! I know too well who you have
been giving yourself away to. Hell have to
manage this little affair all by himself. But
don't you make a mistake, it's I who found you
out.' 1

Then she heard only muttering. Inspector
Heat must have been showing to Mr Verloc the
piece of Stevie's overcoat, because Stevie's
sister, guardian, and protector heard her hus-
band a little louder.

" I never noticed that she had hit upon that
dodge.' 1

Again for a time Mrs Verloc heard nothing
but murmurs, whose mysteriousness was less
nightmarish to her brain than the horrible
suggestions of shaped words. Then Chief

296 THfi SECRET AGENT

Inspector Heat, on the other side of the door,
raised his voice.

" You must have been mad."

And Mr Verloc's voice answered, with a sort
of gloomy fury :

" I have been mad for a month or more, but I
am not mad now. It's all over. It shall all come
out of my head, and hang the consequences."

There was a silence, and then Private Citizen
Heat murmured:

" What's coming out ? "

" Everything/' exclaimed the voice of Mr
Verloc, and then sank very low.

After a while it rose again.

" You have known me for several years now,
and you've found me useful, too. You know
I was a straight man. Yes, straight."

This appeal to old acquaintance must have
been extremely distasteful to the Chief In-
spector.

His voice took on a warning note.

" Don't you trust so much to what you have
been promised If I were you I would clear
out. I don't think we will run after you."

Mr Verloc was heard to laugh a little.

" Oh yes ; you hope the others will get rid
of me for you don't you ? No, no ; you don't
shake me off now. I have been a straight man

THE SECRET AGENT 297

to those people too long, and now everything
must come out."

" Let it come out, then," the indifferent voice
of Chief Inspector Heat assented. "But tell
me now how did you get away."

" I was making for Chesterfield Walk,"
Mrs Verloc heard her husband's voice, "when
I heard the bang. I started running then.
Fog. I saw no one till I was past the end
of George Street. Don't think I met anyone
till then."

"So easy as that!" marvelled the voice of
Chief Inspector Heat. "The bang startled
you, eh?"

"Yes; it came too soon/' confessed the
gloomy, husky voice of Mr Verloc.

Mrs Verloc pressed her ear to the keyhole ;
her lips were blue, her hands cold as ice, and
her pale face, in which the two eyes seemed
like two black holes, felt to her as if it were
enveloped in flames.

On the other side of the door the voices sank
very low. She caught words now and then,
sometimes in her husband's voice, sometimes in
the smooth tones of the Chief Inspector. She
heard this last say :

" We believe he stumbled against the root of
a tree?"

298 THE SECRET AGENT

There was a husky, voluble murmur, which
lasted for some time, and then the Chief In-
spector, as if answering some inquiry, spoke
emphatically.

"Of course. Blown to small bits: limbs,
gravel, clothing, bones, splinters all mixed up
together. I tell you they had to fetch a shovel
to gather him up with."

Mrs Verloc sprang up suddenly from her
crouching position, and stopping her ears, reeled
to and fro between the counter and the shelves
on the wall towards the chair. Her crazed eyes
noted the Sporting sheet left by the Chief In-
spector, and as she knocked herself against the
counter she snatched it up, fell into the chair, tore
the optimistic, rosy sheet right across in trying
to opqn it, then flung it on the floor. On the
other side of the door, Chief Inspector Heat
was saying to Mr Verloc, the secret agent :

11 So your defence will be practically a full
confession ? "

" It will. I am going to tell the whole story."

"You won't be believed as much as you
fancy you will."

And the Chief Inspector remained thought-
ful. The turn this affair was taking meant
the disclosure of many things the laying waste
of fields of knowledge, which, cultivated by a

THE SECRET AGENT 299

capable man, had a distinct value for the in-
dividual and for the society. It was sorry,
sorry meddling. It would leave Michaelis
unsrathed; it would drag to light the Professor's
home industry ; disorganise the whole system
of supervision ; make no end of a row in the
papers, which, from that point of view, appeared
to him by a sudden illumination as invariably
written by fools for the reading of imbeciles.
Mentally he agreed with the words Mr Verloc
let fall at last in answer to his last remark.

" Perhaps not But it will upset many things.
I have been a straight man, and I shall keep
straight in this "

"If they let you," said the Chief Inspector
cynically. " You will be preached to, no doubt,
before they put you into the dock. And in the
end you may yet get let in for a sentence that
will surprise you. I wouldn't trust too much
the gentleman who's been talking to you."

Mr Verloc listened, frowning.

" My advice to you is to clear out while you
may. I have no instructions. There are
some of them," continued Chief Inspector Heat,
laying a peculiar stress on the word "them,"
"who think you are already out of the world."

"Indeed!" Mr Verloc was moved to say.
Though since his return from Greenwich he

300 THE SECRET AGENT

had spent most of his time sitting in the tap-
room of an obscure little public-house, he could
hardly have hoped for such favourable news.

" That's the impression about you." The Chief
Inspector nodded at him. " Vanish. Clear out."

" Where to ? " snarled Mr Verloc. He raised
his head, and gazing at the closed door of the
parlour, muttered feelingly : " I only wish you
would take me away to-night. I would go
quietly."

" I daresay," assented sardonically the Chief
Inspector, following the direction of his glance.

The brow of Mr Verloc broke into slight
moisture. He lowered his husky voice confi-
dentially before the unmoved Chief Inspector.

"The lad was half-witted, irresponsible. Any
court would have seen that at once. Only fit
for the asylum. And that was the worst that
wouldVe happened to him if "

The Chief Inspector, his hand on the door
handle, whispered into Mr Verloc's face.

" He mayVe been half-witted, but you must
have been crazy. What drove you off your head
like this?"

Mr Verloc, thinking of Mr Vladimir, did not
hesitate in the choice of words.

"A Hyperborean swine," he hissed forcibly.
"A what you might call a a gentleman."

THE SECRET AGENT 801

The Chief Inspector, steady -eyed, nodded
briefly his comprehension, and opened the door.
Mrs Verloc, behind the counter, might have
heard but did not see his departure, pursued
by the aggressive clatter of the bell. She sat
at her post of duty behind the counter. She
sat rigidly erect in the chair with two dirty
pink pieces of paper lying spread out at her
feet. The palms of her hands were pressed
convulsively to her face, with the tips of the
fingers contracted against the forehead, as
though the skin had been a mask which she
was ready to tear off violently. The perfect
immobility of her pose expressed the agitation
of rage and despair, all the potential violence
of tragic passions, better than any shallow dis-
play of shrieks, with the beating of a distracted
head against the walls, could have done. Chief
Inspector Heat, crossing the shop at his busy,
swinging pace, gave her only a cursory glance.
And when the cracked bell ceased to tremble
on its curved ribbon of steel nothing stirred
near Mrs Verloc, as if her attitude had the
locking power of a spell. Even the butterfly-
shaped gas flames posed on the ends of the
suspended T-bracket burned without a quiver.
In that shop of shady wares fitted with deal
shelves painted a dull brown, which seemed to

302 THE SECRET AGENT

devour the sheen of the light, the gold circlet
of the wedding ring on Mrs Verloc's left hand
glittered exceedingly with the untarnished glory
of a piece from some splendid treasure of jewels,
dropped in a dust-bin.

X

* I V HE Assistant Commissioner, driven rapidly
* in a hansom from the neighbourhood of
Soho in the direction of Westminster, got out
at the very centre of the Empire on which the
sun never sets. Some stalwart constables, who
did not seem particularly impressed by the duty
of watching the august spot, saluted him. Pene-
trating through a portal by no means lofty
into the precincts of the House which is the
House, par excellence in the minds of many
millions of men, he was met at last by the
volatile and revolutionary Toodles.

That neat and nice young man concealed his
astonishment at the early appearance of the
Assistant Commissioner, whom he had been
told to look out for some time about midnight.
His turning up so early he concluded to be the
sign that things, whatever they were, had gone
wrong. With an extremely ready sympathy,
which in nice youngsters goes often with a
joyous temperament, he felt sorry for the great
Presence he called "The Chief," and also for
the Assistant Commissioner, whose face ap-
33

304 THE SECRET AGENT

peared to him more ominously wooden than
ever before, and quite wonderfully long.
"What a queer, foreign-looking chap he is,"
he thought to himself, smiling from a distance
with friendly buoyancy. And directly they
came together he began to talk with the kind
intention of burying the awkwardness of failure
under a heap of words. It looked as if the
great assault threatened for that night were
going to fizzle out. An inferior henchman of
" that brute Cheeseman " was up boring merci-
lessly a very thin House with some shamelessly
cooked statistics. He, Toodles, hoped he would
bore them into a count out every minute. But
then he might be only marking time to let that
guzzling Cheeseman dine at his leisure. Any-
way, the Chief could not be persuaded to go
home.

" He will see you at once, I think. He's
sitting all alone in his room thinking of all the
fishes of the sea/' concluded Toodles airily.
"Come along."

Notwithstanding the kindness of his disposi-
tion, the young private secretary (unpaid) was
accessible to the common failings of humanity.
He did not wish to harrow the feelings of the
Assistant Commissioner, who looked to him un-
commonly like a man who has made a mess of

THE SECRET AGENT 805

his job. But his curiosity was too strong to be
restrained by mere compassion. He could not
help, as they went along, to throw over his
shoulder lightly :

" And your sprat ? "

"Got him," answered the Assistant Com-
missioner with a concision which did not mean
to be repellent in the least

"Good. You've no idea how these great
men dislike to be disappointed in small things."

After this profound observation the experi-
enced Toodles seemed to reflect. At anyrate
he said nothing for quite two seconds. Then :

" I'm glad. But I say is it really such a
very small thing as you make it out ? "

" Do you know what may be done with a
sprat ? " the Assistant Commissioner asked in
his turn,

" He's sometimes put into a sardine box,"
chuckled Toodles, whose erudition on the subject
of the fishing industry was fresh and, in com-
parison with his ignorance of all other industrial
matters, immense. " There are sardine canneries
on the Spanish coast which "

The Assistant Commissioner interrupted the
apprentice statesman.

" Yes. Yes. But a sprat is also thrown
away sometimes in order to catch a whale."
v

306 THE SECRET AGENT

"A whale. Phew!" exclaimed Toodles,
with bated breath. " You're after a whale,
then ? "

" Not exactly. What I am after is more like
a dog-fish. You don't know perhaps what a
dog-fish is like."

" Yes ; I do. We're buried in special books
up to our necks whole shelves full of them
with plates. . . . It's a noxious, rascally-
looking, altogether detestable beast, with a
sort of smooth face and moustaches."

" Described to a T," commended the Assistant
Commissioner. " Only mine is clean-shaven
altogether. You've seen him. It's a witty
fish."

"I have seen him!" said Toodles incredu-
lously. " I can't conceive where I could have
seen him."

" At the Explorers, I should say," dropped the
Assistant Commissioner calmly. At the name
of that extremely exclusive club Toodles looked
scared, and stopped short.

" Nonsense," he protested, but in an awe-
struck tone. " What do you mean ? A
member ? "

" Honorary/' muttered the Assistant Com-
missioner through his teeth.

" Heavens ! *

THE SECRET AGENT 807

Toodles looked so thunderstruck that the
Assistant Commissioner smiled faintly.

" That's between ourselves strictly," he said

"That's the beastliest thing I've ever heard
in my life," declared Toodles feebly, as if
astonishment had robbed him of all his buoyant
strength in a second.

The Assistant Commissioner gave him an
unsmiling glance. Till they came to the door
of the great man's room, Toodles preserved a
scandalised and solemn silence, as though he
were offended with the Assistant Commissioner
for exposing such an unsavoury and disturbing
fact. It revolutionised his idea of the Explorers'
Club's extreme selectness, of its social purity.
Toodles was revolutionary only in politics ; his
social beliefs and personal feelings he wished to
preserve unchanged through all the years
allotted to him on this earth which, upon the
whole, he believed to be a nice place to live on.

He stood aside.

" Go in without knocking," he said.

Shades of green silk fitted low over all the
lights imparted to the room something of a
forest's deep gloom. The haughty eyes were phy-
sically the great man's weak point. This point
was wrapped up in secrecy. When an oppor-
tunity offered, he rested them conscientiously.

308 THE SECRET AGENT

The Assistant Commissioner entering saw at
first only a big pale hand supporting a big head,
and concealing the upper part of a big pale face.
An open despatch-box stood on the writing-
table near a few oblong sheets of paper and a
scattered handful of quill pens. There was
absolutely nothing else on the large flat surface
except a little bronze statuette draped in a
toga, mysteriously watchful in its shadowy
immobility. The Assistant Commissioner, in-
vited to take a chair, sat down. In the dim
light, the salient points of his personality, the
long face, the black hair, his lankness, made
him look more foreign than ever.

The great man manifested no surprise, no
eagerness, no sentiment whatever. The atti-
tude in which he rested his menaced eyes was
profoundly meditative. He did not alter it the
least bit. But his tone was not dreamy.

41 Well! What is it that you've found out
already? You came upon something unex-
pected on the first step."

"Not exactly unexpected, Sir Ethelred.
What I mainly came upon was a psychological

state."

The Great Presence made a slight movement.

" You must be lucid, please."

''Yes, Sir Ethelred. You know no doubt

THE SECRET AGENT 809

that most criminals at some time or other feel
an irresistible need of confessing of making a
clean breast of it to somebody to anybody.
And they do it often to the police. In that
Verloc whom Heat wished so much to screen
I've found a man in that particular psycho-
logical state. The man, figuratively speaking,
flung himself on my breast. It was enough on
my part to whisper to him who I was and to
add ' I know that you are at the bottom of this
affair/ It must have seemed miraculous to
him that we should know already, but he took
it all in the stride. The wonderfulness of it
never checked him for a moment. There re-
mained for me only to put to him the two ques-
tions : Who put you up to it ? and WJio was the
man who did it ? He answered the first with re-
markable emphasis. As to the second question,
I gather that the fellow with the bomb was
his brother-in-law quite a lad a weak-minded
creature. ... It is rather a curious affair too
long perhaps to state fully just now."

"What then have you learned?" asked the
great man.

"First, I've learned that the ex-convict
Michaelis had nothing to do with it, though
indeed the lad had been living with him
temporarily in the country up to eight o'clock

310 THE SECRET AGENT

this morning. It is more than likely that
Michaelis knows nothing of it to this moment/'

" You are positive as to that ? asked the
great man.

" Quite certain, Sir Ethelred. This fellow
Verloc went there this morning, and took away
the lad on the pretence of going out for a walk
in the lanes. As it was not the first time that
he did this, Michaelis could not have the slightest
suspicion of anything unusual. For the rest,
Sir Ethelred, the indignation of this man
Verloc had left nothing in doubt nothing
whatever. He had been driven out of his
mind almost by an extraordinary performance,
which for you or me it would be difficult to
take as seriously meant, but which produced a
great impression obviously on him/'

The Assistant Commissioner then imparted
briefly to the great man, who sat still, resting
his eyes under the screen of his hand, Mr
Verloc s appreciation of Mr Vladimir's proceed-
ings and character. The Assistant Commis-
sioner did not seem to refuse it a certain
amount of competency. But the great person-
age remarked :

" All this seems very fantastic."

''Doesn't it? One would think a ferocious joke.
But our man took it seriously, it appears. He

THE SECRET AGENT 311

felt himself threatened In the time, you know,
he was in direct communication with old Stott-
Wartenheim himself, and had come to regard
his services as indispensable. It was an
extremely rude awakening. I imagine that
he lost his head. He became angry and
frightened. Upon my word, my impression is
that he thought these Embassy people quite
capable not only to throw him out but, to give
him away too in some manner or other "

"How long were you with him," interrupted
the Presence from behind his big hand.

" Some forty minutes Sir Ethelred, in a house
of bad repute called Continental Hotel, closeted
in a room which by-the-by I took for the night.
I found him under the influence of that reaction
which follows the effort of crime. The man
cannot be defined as a hardened criminal. It is
obvious that he did not plan the death of that
wretched lad his brother-in-law. That was a
shock to him I could see that. Perhaps he is
a man of strong sensibilities. Perhaps he was
even fond of the lad who knows ? He might
have hoped that the fellow would get clear away ;
in which case it would have been almost impos-
sible to bring this thing home to anyone. At
anyrate he risked consciously nothing more but
arrest for him."

312 THE SECRET AGENT

The Assistant Commissioner paused in his
speculations to reflect for a moment.

" Though how, in that last case, he could hope
to have his own share in the business concealed
is more than I can tell," he continued, in his
ignorance of poor Stevie's devotion to Mr
Verloc (who was good], and of his truly peculiar
dumbness, which in the old affair of fireworks
on the stairs had for many years resisted en-
treaties, coaxing, anger, and other means of
investigation used by his beloved sister. For
Stevie was loyal. . . . " No, I can't imagine.
It's possible that he never thought of that at
all. It sounds an extravagant way of putting it,
Sir Ethelred, but his state of dismay suggested
to me an impulsive man who, after committing
suicide with the notion that it would end all his
troubles, had discovered that it did nothing of
the kind"

The Assistant Commissioner gave this defini-
tion in an apologetic voice. But in truth there is
a sort of lucidity proper to extravagant language,
and the great man was not offended. A slight
jerky movement of the big body half lost in the
gloom of the green silk shades, of the big head
leaning on the big hand, accompanied an inter-
mittent stifled but powerful sound. The great
man had laughed

THE SECRET AGENT 813

"What have you done with him ?"

The Assistant Commissioner answered very
readily :

"As he seemed very anxious to get back to
his wife in the shop I let him go, Sir Ethelred."

" You did ? But the fellow will disappear."

" Pardon me. I don't think so. Where
could he go to ? Moreover, you must remember
that he has got to think of the danger from his
comrades too. He's there at his post. How
could he explain leaving it ? But even if there
were no obstacles to his freedom of action he
would do nothing. At present he hasn't enough
moral energy to take a resolution of any sort.
Permit me also to point out that if I had de-
tained him we would have been committed to a
course of action on which I wished to know
your precise intentions first."

The great personage rose heavily, an impos-
ing shadowy form in the greenish gloom of the
room.

" I'll see the Attorney-General to-night, and
will send for you to-morrow morning. Is there
anything more you'd wish to tell me now ? "

The Assistant Commissioner had stood up
also, slender and flexible.

" I think not, Sir Ethelred, unless I were to
enter into details which "

314 THE SECRET AGENT

" No. No details, please."

The great shadowy form seemed to shrink
away as if in physical dread of details ; then
came forward, expanded, enormous, and weighty,
offering a large hand. " And you say that
this man has got a wife ? "

"Yes, Sir Ethelred," said the Assistant
Commissioner, pressing deferentially the ex-
tended hand. " A genuine wife and a genuinely,
respectably, marital relation. He told me that
after his interview at the Embassy he would
have thrown everything up, would have tried
to sell his shop, and leave the country, only he
felt certain that his wife would not even hear of
going abroad. Nothing could be more character-
istic of the respectable bond than that," went on,
with a touch of grimness, the Assistant Com-
missioner, whose own wife too had refused to
hear of going abroad. " Yes, a genuine wife.
And the victim was a genuine brother-in-law.
From a certain point of view we are here in the
presence of a domestic drama."

The Assistant Commissioner laughed a little ;
but the great man's thoughts seemed to have
wandered far away, perhaps to the questions
of his country's domestic policy, the battle-
ground of his crusading valour against the
paynim Cheeseman. The Assistant Commis-

THE SECRET AGENT 315

sioner withdrew quietly, unnoticed, as if already
forgotten.

He had his own crusading instincts. This
affair, which, in one way or another, disgusted
Chief Inspector Heat, seemed to him a provi-
dentially given starting-point for a crusade.
He had it much at heart to begin. He walked
slowly home, meditating that enterprise on the
way, and thinking over Mr Verloc's psychology
in a composite mood of repugnance and satis-
faction. He walked all the way home. Find-
ing the drawing-room dark, he went upstairs,
and spent some time between the bedroom and
the dressing-room, changing his clothes, going
to and fro with the air of a thoughtful som-
nambulist. But he shook it off before going
out again to join his wife at the house of the
great lady patroness of Michaelis.

He knew he would be welcomed there. On
entering the smaller of the two drawing-rooms
he saw his wife in a small group near the piano.
A youngish composer in pass of becoming
famous was discoursing from a music stool to
two thick men whose backs looked old, and
three slender women whose backs looked young.
Behind the screen the great lady had only
two persons with her : a man and a woman,
who sat side by side on arm-chairs at the foot

816 THE SECRET AGENT

of her couch. She extended her hand to the
Assistant Commissioner.

" I never hoped to see you here to-night.
Annie told me "

" Yes. I had no idea myself that my work
would be over so soon."

The Assistant Commissioner added in a low
tone. "I am glad to tell you that Michaelis
is altogether clear of this "

The patroness of the ex-convict received
this assurance indignantly.

"Why? Were your people stupid enough
to connect him with "

"Not stupid," interrupted the Assistant
Commissioner, contradicting deferentially.
" Clever enough quite clever enough for
that."

A silence fell. The man at the foot of the
couch had stopped speaking to the lady, and
looked on with a faint smile.

" I don't know whether you ever met before,"
said the great lady.

Mr Vladimir and the Assistant Commissioner,
introduced, acknowledged each other's exist-
ence with punctilious and guarded courtesy.

" He's been frightening me," declared sud-
denly the lady who sat by the side of Mr
Vladimir, with an inclination of the head towards

THE SECRET AGENT 317

that gentleman. The Assistant Commissioner
knew the lady.

" You do not look frightened," he pronounced,
after surveying her conscientiously with his
tired and equable gaze. He was thinking
meantime to himself that in this house one
met everybody sooner or later. Mr Vladimir's
rosy countenance was wreathed in smiles, be-
cause he was witty, but his eyes remained
serious, like the eyes of convinced man.

"Well, he tried to at least/' amended the
lady.

" Force of habit perhaps/' said the Assistant
Commissioner, moved by an irresistible in-
spiration.

"He has. been threatening society with all
sorts of horrors/' continued the lady, whose
enunciation was caressing and slow, " apropos
of this explosion in Greenwich Park. It
appears we all ought to quake in our shoes at
what's coming if those people are not suppressed
all over the world I had no idea this was such
a grave affair/'

Mr Vladimir, affecting not to listen, leaned
towards the couch, talking amiably in subdued
tones, but he heard the Assistant Commissioner
say :

11 I've no doubt that Mr Vladimir has a very

818 THE SECRET AGENT

precise notion of the true importance of this
affair."

Mr Vladimir asked himself what that con-
founded and intrusive policeman was driving at.
Descended from generations victimised by the in-
struments of an arbitrary power, he was racially,
nationally, and individually afraid of the police.
It was an inherited weakness, altogether in-
dependent of his judgment, of his reason, of his
experience. He was born to it. But that
sentiment, which resembled the irrational horror
some people have of cats, did not stand in the
way of his immense contempt for the English
police, He finished the sentence addressed
to the great lady, and turned slightly in his
chair.

" You mean that we have a great experience
of , these people. Yes ; indeed, we suffer greatly*
from their activity, while you v Mr Vladimir
hesitated for a moment, in smiling perplexity
" while you suffer their presence gladly in your
midst/' he finished, displaying a dimple on each
clean-shaven cheek. Then he added more
gravely : " I may even say because you do/'

When Mr Vladimir ceased speaking the
Assistant Commissioner lowered his glance,
and the conversation dropped. Almost im-
mediately afterwards Mr Vladimir took leave,

THE SECRET AGENT 319

Directly his back was turned on the couch the
Assistant Commissioner rose too.

" I thought you were going to stay and take
Annie home," said the lady patroness of
Michaelis.

"I find that I've yet a little work to do
to-night."

" In connection ? "

''Well, yes in a way."

" Tell me, what is it really this horror ? *

" It's difficult to say what it is, but it may
yet be a cause ctlebre" said the Assistant
Commissioner.

He left the drawing-room hurriedly, and
found Mr Vladimir still in the hall, wrapping
up his throat carefully in a large silk handker-
chief. Behind him a footman waited, holding
his overcoat. Another stood ready to open
the door. The Assistant Commissioner was
duly helped into his coat, and let out at once.
After descending the front steps he stopped,
as if to consider the way he should take. On
seeing this through the door held open, Mr
Vladimir lingered in the hall to get out a cigar
and asked for a light. It was furnished to him
by an elderly man out of livery with an air of
calm solicitude. But the match went out ; the
footman then closed the door, and Mr Vladimir

320 THE SECRET AGENT

lighted his large Havana with leisurely care.
When at last he got out of the house, he saw
with disgust the " confounded policeman" still
standing on the pavement.

"Can he be waiting for me," thought Mr
Vladimir, looking up and down for some signs
of a hansom. He saw none. A couple of
carriages waited by the curbstone, their lamps
blazing steadily, the horses standing perfectly
still, as if carved in stone, the coachmen sitting
motionless under the big fur capes, without as
much as a quiver stirring the white thongs of
their big whips. Mr Vladimir walked on, and
the " confounded policeman" fell into step at
his elbow. He said nothing. At the end of
the fourth stride Mr Vladimir felt infuriated and
uneasy. This could not last

" Rotten weather," he growled savagely.

"Mild," said the Assistant Commissiocer
without passion. He remained silent for a
little while. " We've got hold of a man called
Verloc," he announced casually.

Mr Vladimir did not stumble, did not stagger
back, did not change his stride. But he could
not prevent himself from exclaiming : " What ? "
The Assistant Commissioner did not repeat his
statement. " You know him," he went on in
the same tone.

THE SECRET AGENT 321

Mr Vladimir stopped, and became guttural.

" What makes you say that ?"

" I don't It's Verloc who says that"

" A lying dog of some sort," said Mr Vladimir
in somewhat Oriental phraseology. But in his
heart he was almost awed by the miraculous
cleverness of the English police. The change
of his opinion on the subject was so violent that
it made him for a moment feel slightly sick. He
threw away his cigar, and moved on.

"What pleased me most in this affair/' the
Assistant went on, talking slowly, "is that it
makes such an excellent starting-point for a
piece of work which I've felt must be taken in
hand that is, the clearing out of this country of
all the foreign political spies, police, and that
sort of of dogs. In my opinion they are a
ghastly nuisance ; also an element of danger.
But we can't very well seek them out indi-
vidually. The only way is to make their em-
ployment unpleasant to their employers. The
thing's becoming indecent And dangerous
too, for us, here."

Mr Vladimir stopped again for a moment

" What do you mean ? "

"The prosecution of this Verloc will de-
demonstrate to the public both the danger and
the indecency."

322 THE SECRET AGENT

" Nobody will believe what a man of that
sort says," said Mr Vladimir contemptuously.

" The wealth and precision of detail will
carry conviction to the great mass of the
public/' advanced the Assistant Commissioner
gently.

" So that is seriously what you mean to do."

" We've got the man ; we have no choice."

" You will be only feeding up the lying spirit
of these revolutionary scoundrels," Mr Vladimir
protested "What do you want to make a
scandal for ? from morality or what ? "

Mr Vladimir's anxiety was obvious. The
Assistant Commissioner having ascertained
in this way that there must be some truth in
the summary statements of Mr Verloc, said
indifferently :

" There's a practical side too. We have
really enough to do to look after the genuine
article. You can't say we are not effective.
But we don't intend to let ourselves be bothered
by shams under any pretext whatever."

Mr Vladimir's tone became lofty.

" For my part, I can't share your view. It
is selfish. My sentiments for my own country
cannot be doubted ; but I've always felt that
we ought to be good Europeans besides I
mean governments and men." .

THE SECRET AGENT 828

"Yes," said the Assistant Commissioner
simply. "Only you look at Europe from its
other end. But/' he went on in a good-
natured tone, "the foreign governments can-
not complain of the inefficiency of our police.
Look at this outrage ; a case specially difficult
to trace inasmuch as it was a sham. In less
than twelve hours we have established the
identity of a man literally blown to shreds,
have found the organiser of the attempt, and
have had a glimpse of the inciter behind him.
And we could have gone further ; only we
stopped at the limits of our territory."

"So this instructive crime was planned
abroad," Mr Vladimir said quickly. "You
admit it was planned abroad ? "

" Theoretically. Theoretically only, on
foreign territory ; abroad only by a fiction,"
said the Assistant Commissioner, alluding to
the character of Embassies, which are supposed
to be part and parcel of the country to which
they belong. " But that's a detail. I talked
to you of this business because its your govern-
ment that grumbles most at our police. You
see that we are not so bad. I wanted particularly
to tell you of our success."

" I'm sure I'm very grateful," muttered Mr
Vladimir through his teeth,

324 THE SECRET AGENT

" We can put our finger on every anarchist
here," went on the Assistant Commissioner, as
though he were quoting Chief Inspector Heat
" All that's wanted now is to do away with the
agent provocateur to make everything safe."

Mr Vladimir held up his hand to a passing
hansom.

"You're not going in here," remarked the
Assistant Commissioner, looking at a building
of noble proportions and hospitable aspect, with
the light of a great hall falling through its glass
doors on a broad flight of steps.

But Mr 'Vladimir, sitting, stony-eyed, inside
the hansom, drove off without a word.

The Assistant Commissioner himself did not
turn into the noble building. It was the
Explorers' Club. The thought passed through
his mind that Mr Vladimir, honorary member,
would not be seen very often there in the future.
He looked at his watch. It was only half-past
ten. He had had a very full evening.

XI

A FTER Chief Inspector Heat had left
^^ him Mr Verloc moved about the parlour.
From time to time he eyed his wife through
the open door. " She knows all about it
now," he thought to himself with commisera-
tion for her sorrow and with some satisfaction
as regarded himself. Mr Verloc's soul, if
lacking greatness perhaps, was capable of
tender sentiments. The prospect of having to
break the news to her had put him into a fever.
Chief Inspector Heat had relieved him of the
task. That was good as far as it went. It
remained for him now to face her grief.

Mr Verloc had never expected to have to
face it on account of death, whose catastrophic
character cannot be argued away by sophisti-
cated reasoning or persuasive eloquence. Mr
Verloc never meant Stevie to perish with such
abrupt violence. He did not mean him to perish
at all. Stevie dead was a much greater
nuisance than ever he had been when alive.
Mr Verloc had augured a favourable issue to
his enterprise, basing himself not on Stevie's
3*5

326 THE SECRET AGENT

intelligence, which sometimes plays queer tricks
with a man, but on the blind docility and on
the blind devotion of the boy. Though not
much of a psychologist, Mr Verloc had gauged
the depth of Stevie's fanaticism. He dared
cherish the hope of Stevie walking away from
the walls of the Observatory as he had been
instructed to do, taking the way shown to him
several times previously, and rejoining his
brother-in-law, the wise and good Mr Verloc,
outside the precincts of the park, Fifteen
minutes ought to have been enough for the
veriest fool to deposit the engine and walk
away. And the Professor had guaranteed more
than fifteen minutes. But Stevie had stumbled
within five minutes of being left to himself.
And Mr Verloc was shaken morally to pieces.
He had foreseen everything but that. He had
foreseen Stevie distracted and lost sought
for found in some police station or provincial
workhouse in the end. He had foreseen
Stevie arrested, and was not afraid, because
Mr Verloc had a great opinion of Stevie's
loyalty, which had been carefully indoctrinated
with the necessity of silence in the course of
many walks. Like a peripatetic philosopher,
Mr Verloc, strolling along the streets of
London, had modified Stevie's view of the

THE SECRET AGENT 827

police by conversations full of subtle reason-
ings. Never had a sage a more attentive and
admiring disciple. The submission and worship
were so apparent that Mr Verloc had come to
feel something like a liking for the boy. In
any case, he had not foreseen the swift bringing
home of his connection. That his wife should
hit upon the precaution of sewing the boy's
address inside his overcoat was the last thing
Mr Verloc would have thought of. One can't
think of everything. That was what she
meant when she said that he need not worry
if he lost Stevie during their walks. She
had assured him that the boy would turn
up all right. Well, he had turned up with a
vengeance !

"Well, well/' muttered Mr Verloc in his
wonder. What did she mean by it ? Spare
him the trouble of keeping an anxious eye on
Stevie? Most likely she had meant well.
Only she ought to have told him of the pre-
caution she had taken.

Mr Verloc walked behind the counter of the
shop. His intention was not to overwhelm his
wife with bitter reproaches. Mr Verloc felt no
bitterness. The unexpected march of events
had converted him to the doctrine of fatalism.
Nothing could be helped now. He said :

828 THE SECRET AGENT

"I didn't mean any harm to come to the
boy."

Mrs Verloc shuddered at the sound of her
husband's voice. She did not uncover her face.
The trusted secret agent of the late Baron
Stott-Wartenheim looked at her for a time with
a heavy, persistent, undiscerning glance. The
torn evening paper was lying at her feet. It
could not have told her much. Mr Verloc felt
the need of talking to his wife.

" It's that damned Heat eh ? " he said.
" He upset you. He's a brute, blurting it
out like this to a woman. I made myself ill
thinking how to break it to you. I sat for
hours in the little parlour of Cheshire Cheese
thinking over the best way. You understand
I never meant any harm to come to that boy."

Mr Verloc, the Secret Agent, was speaking
the truth. It was his marital affection that had
received the greatest shock from the premature
explosion. He added :

" I didn't feel particularly gay sitting there
and thinking of you."

He observed another slight shudder of his
wife, which affected his sensibility. As she
persisted in hiding her face in her hands, he
thought he had better leave her alone for a
while. On this delicate impulse Mr Verloc

THE SECRET AGENT 329

withdrew into the parlour again, where the gas
jet purred like a contented cat. Mrs Verloc's
wifely forethought had left the cold beef on the
table with carving knife and fork and half a loaf
of bread for Mr Verloc's supper. He noticed
all these things now for the first time, and
cutting himself a piece of bread and meat,
began to eat

His appetite did not proceed from callous-
ness. Mr Verloc had not eaten any breakfast
that day. He had left his home fasting. Not
being an energetic man, he found his resolu-
tion in nervous excitement, which seemed to
hold him mainly by the throat. He could not
have swallowed anything solid. Michaelis'
cottage was as destitute of provisions as the
cell of a prisoner. The ticket-of-leave apostle
lived on a little milk and crusts of stale bread.
Moreover, when Mr Verloc arrived he had
already gone upstairs after his frugal meal.
Absorbed in the toil and delight of literary
composition, he had not even answered Mr
Verloc's shout up the little staircase.

" 1 am taking this young fellow home for
a day or two."

And, in truth, Mr Verloc did not wait for an
answer, but had marched out of the cottage at
once, followed by the obedient Stevie.

330 THE SECRET AGENT

Now that all action was over and his fate
taken out of his hands with unexpected swift-
ness, Mr Verloc felt terribly empty physically.
He carved the meat, cut the bread, and de-
voured his supper standing by the table, and
now and then casting a glance towards his
wife. Her prolonged immobility disturbed the
comfort of his refection. He walked again into
the shop, and came up very close to her. This
sorrow with a veiled face made Mr Verloc
uneasy. He expected, of course, his wife to be
very much upset, but he wanted her to pull
herself together. He needed all her assistance
and all her loyalty in these new conjunctures
his fatalism had already accepted.

"Can't be helped," he said in a tone of
gloomy sympathy. "Come, Winnie, we've
got to think of to-morrow. You'll want all
your wits about you after I am taken away."

He paused. Mrs Verloc's breast heaved con-
vulsively. This was not reassuring to Mr
Verloc, in whose view the newly created situa-
tion required from the two people most con-
cerned in it calmness, decision, and other
qualities incompatible with the mental disorder
of passionate sorrow. Mr Verloc was a humane
man ; he had come home prepared to allow every
latitude to his wife's affection for her brother.

THE SECRET AGENT 831

Only he did not understand either the nature
or the whole extent of that sentiment. And
in this he was excusable, since it was impossible
for him to understand it without ceasing to be
himself. He was startled and disappointed, and
his speech conveyed it by a certain roughness
of tone.

"You might look at a fellow," he observed
after waiting a while.

As if forced through the hands covering Mrs
Verloc's face the answer came, deadened, almost
pitiful.

" I don't want to look at you as long as I
live."

"Eh? What!" Mr Verloc was merely
startled by the superficial and literal meaning
of this declaration. It was obviously unreason-
able, the mere cry of exaggerated grief. He
threw over it the mantle of his marital indul-
gence. The mind of Mr Verloc lacked pro-
fundity. Under the mistaken impression that
the value of individuals consists in what they
are in themselves, he could not possibly com-
prehend the value of Stevie in the eyes of Mrs
Verloc. She was taking it confoundedly hard,
he thought to himself. It was all the fault of
that damned Heat. What did he want to upset
the woman for ? But she mustn't be allowed,

332 THE SECRET AGENT

for her own good, to carry on so till she got
quite beside herself.

" Look here ! You can't sit like this in the
shop," he said with affected severity, in which
there was some real annoyance ; for urgent
practical matters must be talked over if they
had to sit up all night. "Somebody might
come in at any minute/' he added, and waited
again. No effect was produced, and the idea
of the finality of death occurred to Mr Verloc
during the pause. He changed his tone.
" Come. This won't bring him back," he said
gently, feeling ready to take her in his arms
and press her to his breast, where impatience
and compassion dwelt side by side. But except
for a short shudder Mrs Verloc remained ap-
parently unaffected by the force of that terrible
truism. It was Mr Verloc himself who was
moved. He was moved in his simplicity to
urge moderation by asserting the claims of his
own personality.

" Do be reasonable, Winnie. What would
it have been if you had lost me ! "

He had vaguely expected to hear her cry
out. But she did not budge. She leaned
back a little, quieted down to a complete un-
readable stillness. Mr Verloc's heart began
to beat faster with exasperation and something

THE SECRET AGENT 333

resembling alarm. He laid his hand on her
shoulder, saying:

" Don't be a fool, Winnie. "

She gave no sign. It was impossible to talk
to any purpose with a woman whose face one
cannot see. Mr Verloc caught hold of his wife's
wrists. But her hands seemed glued fast. She
swayed forward bodily to his tug, and nearly
went off the chair. Startled to feel her so help-
lessly limp, he was trying to put her back on the
chair when she stiffened suddenly all over, tore
herself out of his hands, ran out of the shop, across
the parlour, and into the kitchen. This was
very swift. He had just a glimpse of her face
and that much of her eyes that he knew she had
not looked at him.

It all had the appearance of a struggle for
the possession of a chair, because Mr Verloc
instantly took his wife's place in it. Mr Verloc
did not cover his face with his hands, but a
sombre thoughtfulness veiled his features. A
term of imprisonment could not be avoided.
He did not wish now to avoid it. A prison
was a place as safe from certain unlawful ven-
geances as the grave, with this advantage, that
in a prison there is room for hope. What he
saw before him was a term of imprisonment,
an early release, and then life abroad some-

334 THE SECRET AGENT

where, such as he had contemplated already, in
case of failure. Well, it was a failure, if not
exactly the sort of failure he had feared It
had been so near success that he could have
positively terrified Mr Vladimir out of his
ferocious scoffing with this proof of occult
efficiency. So at least it seemed now to Mr
Verloc. His prestige with the Embassy would
have been immense if if his wife had not had
the unlucky notion of sewing on the address
inside Stevie's overcoat. Mr Verloc, who was
no fool, had soon perceived the extraordinary
character of. the influence he had over Stevie,
though he did not understand exactly its origin
the doctrine of his supreme wisdom and good-
ness inculcated by two anxious women. In all
the eventualities he had foreseen Mr Verloc
had calculated with correct insight on Stevie's
instinctive loyalty and blind discretion. The
eventuality he had not foreseen had appalled
him as a humane man and a fond husband.
From every other point of view it was rather
advantageous. Nothing can equal the ever-
lasting discretion of death. Mr Verloc, sitting
perplexed and frightened in the small parlour
of the Cheshire Cheese, could not help acknow-
ledging that to himself, because his sensibility
did not stand in the way of his judgment.

THE SECRET AGENT 385

Stevie's violent disintegration, however dis-
turbing to think about, only assured the success ;
for, of course, the knocking down of a wall was
not the aim of Mr Vladimir's menaces, but the
production of a moral effect. With much
trouble and distress on Mr Verloc's part the
effect might be said to have been produced.
When, however, most unexpectedly, it came
home to roost in Brett Street, Mr Verloc, who
had been struggling like a man in a nightmare
for the preservation of his position, accepted the
blow in the spirit of a convinced fatalist. The
position was gone through no one's fault really.
A small, tiny fact had done it It was like
slipping on a bit of orange peel in the dark and
breaking your leg.

Mr Verloc drew a weary breath. He
nourished no resentment against his wife.
He thought: She will have to look after the
shop while they keep me locked up. And
thinking also how cruelly she would miss
Stevie at first, he felt greatly concerned about
her health and spirits. How would she stand
her solitude absolutely alone in that house?
It would not do for her to break down while
he was locked up ? What would become of the
shop then ? The shop was an asset. Though
Mr Verloc's fatalism accepted his undoing as a

386 THE SECRET AGENT

secret agent, he had no mind to be utterly
ruined, mostly, it must be owned, from regard
for his wife.

Silent, and out of his line of sight in the
kitchen, she frightened him. If only she had
had her mother with her. But that silly old

woman An angry dismay possessed Mr

Verloc. He must talk with his wife. He could
tell her certainly that a man does get desperate
under certain circumstances. But he did not
go incontinently to impart to her that informa-
tion. First of all, it was clear to him that this
evening was no time for business. He got up
to close the street door and put the gas out in
the shop.

Having thus assured a solitude around his
hearthstone Mr Verloc walked into the parlour,
and glanced down into the kitchen. Mrs Verloc
was sitting in the place where poor Stevie
usually established himself of an evening
with paper and pencil for the pastime of draw-
ing these coruscations of innumerable circles
suggesting chaos and eternity. Her arms
were folded on the table, and her head was
lying on her arms. Mr Verloc contemplated
her back and the arrangement of her hair for a
time, then walked away from the kitchen door.
Mrs Verloc's philosophical, almost disdainful

THE SECRET AGENT 837

incuriosity, the foundation of their accord in
domestic life made it extremely difficult to get
into contact with her, now this tragic necessity
had arisen. Mr Verloc felt this difficulty acutely.
He turned around the table in the parlour with
his usual air of a large animal in a cage.

Curiosity being one of the forms of self-
revelation, a systematically incurious person
remains always partly mysterious. Every
time he passed near the door Mr Verloc
glanced at his wife uneasily. It was not that
he was afraid of her. Mr Verloc imagined
himself loved by that woman. But she had
not accustomed him to make confidences. And
the confidence he had to make was of a profound
psychological order. How with his want of
practice could he tell her what he himself felt
but vaguely : that there are conspiracies of
fatal destiny, that a notion grows in a mind
sometimes till it acquires an outward exist-
ence, an independent power of its own, and
even a suggestive voice? He could not
inform her that a man may be haunted by a
fat, witty, clean -shaved face till the wildest
expedient to get rid of it appears a child of
wisdom.

On this mental reference to a First Secretary
of a great Embassy, Mr Verloc stopped in the
v

838 THE SECRET AGENT

doorway, and looking down into the kitchen
with an angry face and clenched fists, addressed
his wife.

" You don't know what a brute I had to deal
with/'

He started ofif to make another perambulation
of the table ; then when he had come to the
door again he stopped, glaring in from the
height of two steps.

"A silly, jeering, dangerous brute, with no

more sense than After all these years !

A man like me ! And I have been playing my
head at that game. You didn't know. Quite
right, too. What was the good of telling you
that I stood the risk of having a knife stuck
into me any time these seven years we've been
married ? I am not a chap to worry a woman
that's fond of me. You had no business to know. "

Mr Verloc took another turn round the
parlour, fuming.

"A venomous beast/ 1 he began again from
the doorway. " Drive me out into a ditch to
starve for a joke. I could see he thought it
was a damned good joke. A man like me!
Look here ! Some of the highest in the world
got to thank me for walking on their two
legs to this day. That's the man you've got
married to, my girl ! "

THE SECRET AGENT 889

He perceived that his wife had sat up. Mrs
Verloc's arms remained lying stretched on
the table, Mr Verloc watched at her back
as if he could read there the effect of his
words.

" There isn't a murdering plot for the last
eleven years that I hadn't my finger in at the
risk of my life. There's scores of these revolu-
tionists I've sent off, with their bombs in
their blamed pockets, to get themselves caught
on the frontier. The old Baron knew what
I was worth to his country. And here suddenly
a swine comes along an ignorant, overbearing

swine/'

Mr Verloc, stepping slowly down two steps,
entered the kitchen, took a tumbler off the
dresser, and holding it in his hand, approached
the sink, without looking at his wife.

" It wasn't the old Baron who would have
had the wicked folly of getting me to call on
him at eleven in the morning. There are two
or three in this town that, if they had seen me
going in, would have made no bones about
knocking me on the head sooner or later. It
was a silly, murderous trick to expose for
nothing a man like me."

Mr Verloc, turning on the tap above the
sink, poured three glasses of water, one after

840 THE SECRET AGENT

another, down his throat to quench the fires of
his indignation. Mr Vladimir's conduct was
like a hot brand which set his internal economy
in a blaze. He could not get over the disloyalty
of it. This man, who would not work at the
usual hard tasks which society sets to its humbler
members, had exercised his secret industry with
an indefatigable devotion. There was in Mr
Verloc a fund of loyalty. He had been loyal
to his employers, to the cause of social stability,
and to his affections too as became apparent
when, after standing the tumbler in the sink, he
turned about, saying :

" If I hadn't thought of you I would have
taken the bullying brute by the throat and
rammed his head into the fireplace. I'd have
been more than a match for that pink-faced,
smooth-shaved "

Mr Verloc, neglected to finish the sentence,
as if there could be no doubt of the terminal
word For the first time in his life he was
taking that incurious woman into his confi-
dence. The singularity of the event, the force
and importance of the personal feelings aroused
in the course of this confession, drove Stevie's
fate clean out of Mr Verloc's mind. The boy's
stuttering existence of fears and indignations,
together with the violence of his end, hacj

THE SECRET AGENT 341

passed out of Mr Verloc's mental sight for
a time. For that reason, when he looked up
he was startled by the inappropriate character
of his wife's stare. It was not a wild stare,
and it was not inattentive, but its attention
was peculiar and not satisfactory, inasmuch that
it seemed concentrated upon some point beyond
Mr Verloc's person. The impression was so
strong that Mr Verloc glanced over his shoulder.
There was nothing behind him : there was
just the whitewashed wall. The excellent
husband of Winnie Verloc saw no writing on
the wall. He turned to his wife again, repeating,
with some emphasis :

" I would have taken him by the throat. As
true as I stand here, if I hadn't thought of you
then I would have half choked the life out of
the brute before I let him get up. And don't
you think he would have been anxious to call
the police either. He wouldn't have dared.
You understand why don't you ? "

He blinked at his wife knowingly.

" No," said Mrs Verloc in an unresonant
voice, and without looking at him at all.
" What are you talking about ? "

A great discouragement, the result of fatigue,
came upon Mr Verloc. He had had a very full
day, and his nerves had been tried to the

342 THE SECRET AGENT

utmost. After a month of maddening worry,
ending in an unexpected catastrophe, the storm-
tossed spirit of Mr Verloc longed for repose.
His career as a secret agent had come to an
end in a way no one could have foreseen ; only,
now, perhaps he could manage to get a night's
sleep at last. But looking at his wife, he
doubted it. She was taking it very hard not
at all like herself, he thought. He made an
effort to speak.

"You'll have to pull yourself together, my
girl," he said .sympathetically. " What's done
can't be undone/'

Mrs Verloc gave a slight start, though not a
muscle of her white face moved in the least.
Mr Verloc, who was not looking at her, con-
tinued ponderously.

" You go to bed now. What you want is a
good cry."

This opinion had nothing to recommend it
but the general consent of mankind. It is
universally understood that, as if it were
nothing more substantial than vapour floating
in the sky, every emotion of a woman is bound
to end in a shower. And it is very probable
that had Stevie died in his bed under her
despairing gaze, in her protecting arms, Mrs
Verloc's grief would have found relief in a flood

THE SECRET AGENT 343

of bitter and pure tears. Mrs Verloc, in
common with other human beings, was pro-
vided with a fund of unconscious resignation
sufficient to meet the normal manifestation of
human destiny. Without ''troubling her head
about it," she was aware that it "did not stand
looking into very much." But the lamentable
circumstances of Stevie's end, which to Mr
Verloc's mind had only an episodic character, as
part of a greater disaster, dried her tears at
their very source. It was the effect of a white-
hot iron drawn across her eyes ; at the same
time her heart, hardened and chilled into a
lump of ice, kept her body in an inward
shudder, set her features into a frozen contem-
plative immobility addressed to a whitewashed
wall with no writing on it The exigencies of
Mrs Verloc's temperament, which, when stripped
of its philosophical reserve, was maternal and
violent, forced her to roll a series of thoughts
in her motionless head. These thoughts were
rather imagined than expressed. Mrs Verloc
was a woman of singularly few words, either
for public or private use. With the rage and
dismay of a betrayed woman, she reviewed the
tenor of her life in visions concerned mostly
with Stevie's difficult existence from its earliest
days. It was a life of single purpose and of a

344 THE SECRET AGENT

noble unity of inspiration, like those rare lives
that have left their mark on the thoughts and
feelings of mankind But the visions of Mrs
Verloc lacked nobility and magnificence. She
saw herself putting the boy to bed by the light
of a single candle on the deserted top floor of
a " business house," dark under the roof and
scintillating exceedingly with lights and cut
glass at the level of the street like a fairy
palace. That meretricious splendour was the
only one to be met in Mrs Verloc's visions. She
remembered brushing the boy's hair and tying
his pinafores herself in a pinafore still ; the
consolations administered to a small and badly
scared creature by another creature nearly as
small but not quite so badly scared ; she had
the vision of the blows intercepted (often with
her own head), of a door held desperately shut
against a man's rage (not for very long) ; of a
poker flung once (not very far), which stilled
that particular storm into the dumb and awful
silence which follows a thunder-clap. And all
these scenes of violence came and went accom-
panied by the unrefined noise of deep vocifera-
tions proceeding from a man wounded in his
paternal pride, declaring himself obviously
accursed since one of his kids was a "slobber-
ing idjut and the other a wicked she-devil." It

THE SECRET AGENT 845

was of her that this had been said many years
ago.

Mrs Verloc heard the words again in a
ghostly fashion, and then the dreary shadow
of the Belgravian mansion descended upon her
shoulders. It was a crushing memory, an ex-
hausting vision of countless breakfast trays
carried up and down innumerable stairs, of
endless haggling over pence, of the endless
drudgery of sweeping, dusting, cleaning, from
basement to attics ; while the impotent mother,
staggering on swollen legs, cooked in a grimy
kitchen, and poor Stevie, the unconscious
presiding genius of all their toil, blacked the
gentlemen's boots in the scullery. But this
vision had a breath of a hot London summer
in it, and for a central figure a young man wear-
ing his Sunday best, with a straw hat on his
dark head and a wooden pipe in his mouth.
Affectionate and jolly, he was a fascinating com-
panion for a voyage down the sparkling stream
of life ; only his boat was very small. There
was room in it for a girl-partner at the oar,
but no accommodation for passengers. He
was allowed to drift away from the threshold of
the Belgravian mansion while Winnie averted
her tearful eyes. He was not a lodger. The
lodger was Mr Verloc, indolent, and keeping

346 THE SECRET AGENT

late hours, sleepily jocular of a morning from
under his bed-clothes, but with gleams of in-
fatuation in his heavy lidded eyes, and always
with some money in his pockets. There was
no sparkle of any kind on the lazy stream of
his life. It flowed through secret places. But
his barque seemed a roomy craft, and his taciturn
magnanimity accepted as a matter of course
the presence of passengers.

Mrs Verloc pursued the visions of seven years*
security for Stevie, loyally paid for on her
part ; of security growing into confidence, into
a domestic 'feeling, stagnant and deep like a
placid pool, whose guarded surface hardly
shuddered on the occasional passage of
Comrade Ossipon, the robust anarchist with
shamelessly inviting eyes, whose glance had a
corrupt clearness sufficient to enlighten any
woman not absolutely imbecile.

A few seconds only had elapsed since the last
word had been uttered aloud in the kitchen, and
Mrs Verloc was staring already at the vision of
an episode not more than a fortnight old. With
eyes whose pupils were extremely dilated she
stared at the vision of her husband and poor
Stevie walking up Brett Street side by side
away from the shop. It was the last scene of
an existence created by Mrs Verloc's genius ;

THE SECRET AGENT 34*7

an existence foreign to all grace and charm,
without beauty and almost without decency, but
admirable in the continuity of feeling and
tenacity of purpose. And this last vision has
such plastic relief, such nearness of form, such a
fidelity of suggestive detail, that it wrung from
Mrs Verloc an anguished and faint murmur,
reproducing the supreme illusion of her life, an
appalled murmur that died out on her blanched
lips.

11 Might have been father and son."

Mr Verloc stopped, and raised a care-
worn face. " Eh ? What did you say ? "
he asked. Receiving no reply, he resumed
his sinister tramping. Then with a menac-
ing flourish of a thick, fleshy fist, he burst
out:

"Yes. The Embassy people. A pretty lot,
ain't they ! Before a week's out I'll make some
of them wish themselves twenty feet under-
ground. Eh? What?"

He glanced sideways, with his head down.
Mrs Verloc gazed at the whitewashed wall.
A blank wall perfectly blank. A blankness
to run at and dash your head against. Mrs
Verloc remained immovably seated. She kept
still as the population of half the globe would
keep still in astonishment and despair, were the

348 THE SECRET AGENT

sun suddenly put out in the summer sky by the
perfidy of a trusted providence.

"The Embassy/' Mr Verloc began again,
after a preliminary grimace which bared his
teeth wolfishly. " I wish I could get loose in
there with a cudgel for half-an-hour. I would
keep on hitting till there wasn't a single un-
broken bone left amongst the whole lot. But
never mind, I'll teach them yet what it means
trying to throw out a man like me to rot in the
streets. I've a tongue in my head. All the
world shall know what I've done for them.
I am not kfraid. I don't care. Everything'll
come out. Every damned thing. Let them
look out ! "

In these terms did Mr Verloc declare his
thirst for revenge. It was a very appropriate
revenge. It was in harmony with the prompt-
ings of Mr Verloc's genius. It had also the
advantage of being within the range of his
powers and of adjusting itself easily to the
practice of his life, which had consisted precisely
in betraying the secret and unlawful proceed-
ings of his fellow-men. Anarchists or diplomats
were all one to him. Mr Verloc was tempera-
mentally no respecter of persons. His scorn
was equally distributed over the whole field of
his operations. But as a member of a revolu-

THE SECRET AGENT 849

tionary proletariat which he undoubtedly was
he nourished a rather inimical sentiment against
social distinction.

" Nothing on earth can stop me now," he
added, and paused, looking fixedly at his wife,
who was looking fixedly at a blank wall.

The silence in the kitchen was prolonged, and
Mr Verloc felt disappointed. He had expected
his wife to say something. But Mrs Verloc's
lips, composed in their usual form, preserved a
statuesque immobility like the rest of her face.
And Mr Verloc was disappointed. Yet the
occasion did not, he recognised, demand speech
from her. She was a woman of very few words.
For reasons involved in the very foundation of
his psychology, Mr Verloc was inclined to put
his trust in any woman who had given herself
to him. Therefore he trusted his wife. Their
accord was perfect, but it was not precise. It
was a tacit accord, congenial to Mrs Verloc's
incuriosity and to Mr Verloc's habits of mind,
which were indolent and secret. They refrained
from going to the bottom of facts and motives.

This reserve, expressing, in a way, their
profound confidence in each other, introduced
at the same time a certain element of vagueness
into their intimacy. No system of conjugal
relations is perfect. Mr Verloc presumed that

350 THE SECRET AGENT

his wife had understood him, but he would
have been glad to hear her say what she
thought at the moment. It would have been
a comfort.

There were several reasons why this comfort
was denied him. There was a physical obstacle :
Mrs Verloc had no sufficient command over her
voice. She did not see any alternative between
screaming and silence, and instinctively she
chose the silence. Winnie Verloc was tempera-
mentally a silent person. And there was the
paralysing atrocity of the thought which occu-
pied her. Her cheeks were blanched, her lips
ashy, her immobility amazing. And she thought
without looking at Mr Verloc : "This man took
the boy away to murder him. He took the
boy away from his home to murder him. He
took the boy away from me to murder him ! "

Mrs Verloc's whole being was racked by that
inconclusive and maddening thought. It was
in her veins, in her bones, in the roots of her
hair. Mentally she assumed the biblical attitude
of mourning the covered face, the rent gar-
ments ; the sound of wailing and lamentation
filled her head But her teeth were violently
clenched, and her tearless eyes were hot with
rage, because she was not a submissive creature.
The protection she had extended over her

THE SECRET AGENT 851

brother had been in its origin of a fierce and
indignant complexion. She had to love him
with a militant love. She had battled for him
even against herself. His loss had the bitter-
ness of defeat, with the anguish of a baffled
passion. It was not an ordinary stroke of
death. Moreover, it was not death that took
Stevie from her. It was Mr Verloc who took
him away. She had seen him. She had
watched him, without raising a hand, take the
boy away. And she had let him go, like like
a fool a blind fool. Then after he had
murdered the boy he came home to her.
Just came home like any other man would
come home to his wife. . .

Through her set teeth Mrs Verloc muttered
at the wall :

" And I thought he had caught a cold/

Mr Verloc heard these words and appropri-
ated them.

" It was nothing," he said moodily. " I was
upset. I was upset on your account."

Mrs Verloc, turning her head slowly, trans-
ferred her stare from the wall to her husband's
person. Mr Verloc, with the tips of his fingers
between his lips, was looking on the ground.

''Can't be helped," he mumbled, letting his
hand fall " You must pull yourself together,

852 THE SECRET AGENT

You'll want all your wits about you. It is you
who brought the police about our ears. Never
mind, I won't say anything more about it/ 1
continued Mr Verloc magnanimously. " You
couldn't know."

"I couldn't/' breathed out Mrs Verloc. It
was as if a corpse had spoken. Mr Verloc took
up the thread of his discourse.

" I don't blame you. I'll make them sit up.
Once under lock and key it will be safe enough
for me to talk you understand. You must
reckon on me being two years away from you,"
he continued, in a tone of sincere concern. " It
will be easier for you than for me. You'll

have something to do, while I Look here,

Winnie, what you must do is to keep this
business going for two years. You know
enough for that. You've a good head on you.
I'll send you word when it's time to go about
trying to sell. You'll have to be extra careful.
The comrades will be keeping an eye on you
all the time. You'll have to be as artful as
you know how, and as close as the grave.
No one must know what you are going to do.
I have no mind to get a knock on the head
or a stab in the back directly I am let out."

Thus spoke Mr Verloc, applying his mind
with ingenuity and forethought tp the problems

THE SECRET AGENT 353

of the future. His voice was sombre, because
he had a correct sentiment of the situation.
Everything which he did not wish to pass had
come to pass. The future had become pre-
carious. His judgment, perhaps, had been
momentarily obscured by his dread of Mr
Vladimir's truculent folly. A man somewhat
over forty may be excusably thrown into con-
siderable disorder by the prospect of losing
his employment, especially if the man is a secret
agent of political police, dwelling secure in the
consciousness of his high value and in the
esteem of high personages. He was excusable.

Now the thing had ended in a crash. Mr
Verloc was cool ; but he was not cheerful. A
secret agent who throws his secrecy to the
winds from desire of vengeance, and flaunts
his achievements before the public eye, becomes
the mark for desperate and bloodthirsty indigna-
tions. Without unduly exaggerating the danger,
Mr Verloc tried to bring it clearly before his
wife's mind. He repeated that he had no inten-
tion to let the revolutionists do away with him.

He looked straight into his wife's eyes. The
enlarged pupils of the woman received his
stare into their unfathomable depths.

" I am too fond of you for that/' he said,
with a little nervous laugh,
z

854 THE SECRET AGENT

A faint flush coloured Mrs Verloc's ghastly
and motionless face. Having done with the
visions of the past, she had not only heard, but
had also understood the words uttered by her
husband By their extreme disaccord with her
mental condition these words produced on her
a slightly suffocating effect. Mrs Verloc's
mental condition had the merit of simplicity ;
but it was not sound. It was governed too
much by a fixed idea. Every nook and cranny
of her brain was filled with the thought that
this man, with whom she had lived without
distaste for seven years, had taken the "poor
boy " away from her in order to kill him the
man to whom she had grown accustomed in
body and mind ; the man whom she had trusted,
took the boy away to kill him ! In its form, in
its substance, in its effect, which was universal,
altering even the aspect of inanimate things, it
was a thought to sit still and marvel at for ever
and ever. Mrs Verloc sat still. And across
that thought (not across the kitchen) the form of
Mr Verloc went to and fro, familiarly in hat and
overcoat, stamping with his boots upon her brain,
He was probably talking too ; but Mrs Verloc's
thought for the most part covered the voice.

Now and then, however, the voice would
make itself heard. Several connected words

THE SECRET AGENT 355

emerged at times. Their purport was generally
hopeful. On each of these occasions Mrs
Verloc's dilated pupils, losing their far-off fixity,
followed her husband's movements with the effect
of black care and impenetrable attention. Well
informed upon all matters relating to his secret
calling, Mr Verloc augured well for the success
of his plans and combinations. He really be-
lieved that it would be upon the whole easy for
him to escape the knife of infuriated revolu-
tionists. He had exaggerated the strength of
their fury and the length of their arm (for pro-
fessional purposes) too often to have many
illusions one way or the other. For to exag-
erate with judgment one must begin by measur-
ing with nicety. He knew also how much
virtue and how much infamy is forgotten in two
years two long years. His first really con-
fidential discourse to his wife was optimistic
from conviction. He also thought it good policy
to display all the assurance he could muster.
It would put heart into the poor woman. On
his liberation, which, harmonising with the
whole tenor of his life, would be secret, of
course, they would vanish together without loss
of time, As to covering up the tracks, he begged
his wife to trust him for that He knew how
it was to be done so that the devil himself

356 THE SECRET AGENT

He waved his hand. He seemed to boast.
He wished only to put heart into her. It was
a benevolent intention, but Mr Verloc had the
misfortune not to be in accord with his audience.

The self-confident tone grew upon Mrs Ver-
loc's ear which let most of the words go by ; for
what were words to her now ? What could
words do to her for good or evil in the face of
her fixed idea ? Her black glance followed that
man who was asserting his impunity the
man who had taken poor Stevie from home to
kill him somewhere. Mrs Verloc could not re-
member exactly where, but her heart began to
beat very perceptibly.

Mr Verloc, in a soft and conjugal tone, was
now expressing his firm belief that there were
yet a good few years of quiet life before them
both. He did not go into the question of
means. A quiet life it must be and, as it were,
nestling in the shade, concealed among men
whose flesh is grass ; modest, like the life of
violets. The words used by Mr Verloc were :
41 Lie low for a bit." And far from England,
of course. It was not clear whether Mr Verloc
had in his mind Spain or South America ; but
at anyrate somewhere abroad.

This last word, falling into Mrs Verloc's ear,
produced a definite impression. This man was

THE SEC&ET AGENT 857

talking of going abroad. The impression was
completely disconnected ; and such is the force
of mental habit that Mrs Verloc at once and
automatically asked herself: "And what of
Stevie?"

It was a sort of forgetfulness ; but instantly
she became aware that there was no longer
any occasion for anxiety on that score. There
would never be any occasion any more. The
poor boy had been taken out and killed The
poor boy was dead.

This shaking piece of forgetfulness stimulated
Mrs Verloc's intelligence. She began to per-
ceive certain consequences which would have
surprised Mr Verloc. There was no need for
her now to stay there, in that kitchen, in that
house, with that man since the boy was gone
for ever. No need whatever. And on that
Mrs Verloc rose as if raised by a spring. But
neither could she see what there was to keep
her in the world at all. And this inability
arrested her. Mr Verloc watched her with
marital solicitude.

" You're looking more like yourself," he said
uneasily. Something peculiar in the blackness
of his wife's eyes disturbed his optimism. At
that precise moment Mrs Verloc began to look
upon herself as released from all earthly ties,

358 THE SECRET AGENT

She had her freedom. Her contract with exist-
ence, as represented by that man standing over
there, was at an end. She was a free woman.
Had this view become in some way perceptible
to Mr Verloc he would have been extremely
shocked In his affairs of the heart Mr Verloc
had been always carelessly generous, yet always
with no other idea than that of being loved for
himself. Upon this matter, his ethical notions
being in agreement with his vanity, he was com-
pletely incorrigible. That this should be so in
the case of his virtuous and legal connection he
was perfectly certain. He had grown older,
fatter, heavier, in the belief that he lacked no
fascination for being loved for his own sake.
When he saw Mrs Verloc starting to walk out of
the kitchen without a word he was disappointed.

" Where are you going to?" he called out
rather sharply. " Upstairs ? *

Mrs Verloc in the doorway turned at the
voice. An instinct of prudence born of fear,
the excessive fear of being approached and
touched by that man, induced her to nod at him
slightly (from the height of two steps), with a
stir of the lips which the conjugal optimism
of Mr Verloc took for a wan and uncertain
smile.

"That's right/' he encouraged her gruffly.

THE SECRET AGENT 859

" Rest and quiet's what you want. Go on. It
won't be long before I am with you."

Mrs Verloc, the free woman who had had
really no idea where she was going to, obeyed
the suggestion with rigid steadiness.

Mr Verloc watched her. She disappeared
up the stairs. He was disappointed. There
was that within him which would have been
more satisfied if she had been moved to throw
herself upon his breast. But he was generous
and indulgent. Winnie was always undemon-
strative and silent. Neither was Mr Verloc
himself prodigal of endearments and words as
a rule. But this was not an ordinary evening.
It was an occasion when a man wants to be
fortified and strengthened by open proofs of
sympathy and affection. Mr Verloc sighed,
and put out the gas in the kitchen. Mr Verloc's
sympathy with his wife was genuine and intense.
It almost brought tears into his eyes as he stood
in the parlour reflecting on the loneliness hanging
over her head. In this mood Mr Verloc missed
Stevie very much out of a difficult world. He
thought mournfully of his end. If only that
lad had not stupidly destroyed himself!

The sensation of unappeasable hunger, not
unknown after the strain of a hazardous enter-
prise to adventurers of tougher fibre than Mr

360 THE SECRET AGENT

Verloc, overcame him again. The piece of
roast beef, laid out in the likeness of funereal
baked meats for Stevie's obsequies, offered itself
largely to his notice. And Mr Verloc again
partook. He partook ravenously, without re-
straint and decency, cutting thick slices with the
sharp carving knife, and swallowing them with-
out bread. In the course of that refection it
occurred to Mr Verloc that he was not hearing
his wife move about the bedroom as he should
have done. The thought of finding her perhaps
sitting on the bed in the dark not only cut
Mr Verloc's appetite, but also took from him the
inclination to follow her upstairs just yet.
Laying down the carving knife, Mr Verloc
listened with careworn attention.

He was comforted by hearing her move at
last. She walked suddenly across the room,
and threw the window up. After a period of
stillness up there, during which he figured her to
himself with her head out, he heard the sash
being lowered slowly. Then she made a few
steps, and sat down. Every resonance of his
house was familiar to Mr Verloc, who was
thoroughly domesticated. When next he heard
his wife's footsteps overhead he knew, as well
as if he had seen her doing it, that she had been
putting on her walking shoes. Mr Verloc

THE SECRET AGENT 861

wriggled his shoulders slightly at this ominous
symptom, and moving away from the table,
stood with his back to the fireplace, his head
on one side, and gnawing perplexedly at the
tips of his fingers. He kept track of her move-
ments by the sound. She walked here and
there violently, with abrupt stoppages, now
before the chest of drawers, then in front of
the wardrobe. An immense load of weariness,
the harvest of a day of shocks and surprises,
weighed Mr Verloc's energies to the ground.

He did not raise his eyes till he heard his
wife descending the stairs. It was as he had
guessed. She was dressed for going out.

Mrs Verloc was a free woman. She had thrown
open the window of the bedroom either with the
intention of screaming Murder! Help! or of
throwing herself out. For she did not exactly
know what use to make of her freedom. Her per-
sonality seemed to have been torn into two pieces,
whose mental operations did not adjust them-
selves very well to each other. The street, silent
and deserted from end to end, repelled her by
taking sides with that man who was so certain of
his impunity. She was afraid to shout lest no
one should come. Obviously no one would come.
Her instinct of self-preservation recoiled from
the depth of the fall into that sort of slimy, deep

362 THE SECRET AGENT

trench. Mrs Verloc closed the window, and
dressed herself to go out into the street by
another way. She was a free woman. She
had dressed herself thoroughly, down to the
tying of a black veil over her face. As she
appeared before him in the light of the parlour,
Mr Verloc observed that she had even her little
handbag hanging from her left wrist. . . .
Flying off to her mother, of course.

The thought that women were wearisome
creatures after all presented itself to his fatigued
brain. But he was too generous to harbour it
for more than an instant. This man, hurt
cruelly in his vanity, remained magnanimous
in his conduct, allowing himself no satisfaction
of a bitter smile or of a contemptuous gesture.
With true greatness of soul, he only glanced at
the wooden clock on the wall, and said in a
perfectly calm but forcible manner:

" Five and twenty minutes past eight, Winnie.
There's no sense in going over there so late.
You will never manage to get back to-night."

Before his extended hand Mrs Verloc had
stopped short He added heavily : " Your
mother will be gone to bed before you get
there. This is the sort of news that can wait."

Nothing was further from Mrs Verloc's
thoughts than going to her mother. She recoiled

THE SECRET AGENT 868

at the mere idea, and feeling a chair behind
her, she obeyed the suggestion of the touch, and
sat down. Her intention had been simply to get
outside the door for ever And if this feeling was
correct, its mental form took an unrefined shape
corresponding to her origin and station. "I
would rather walk the streets all the days of
my life," she thought But this creature,
whose moral nature had been subjected to a shock
of which, in the physical order, the most violent
earthquake of history could only be a faint and
languid rendering, was at the mercy of mere
trifles, of casual contacts. She sat down. With
her hat and veil she had the air of a visitor, of
having looked in on Mr Verloc for a moment.
Her instant docility encouraged him, whilst her
aspect of only temporary and silent acquiescence
provoked him a little.

f< Let me tell you, Winnie, * he said with
authority, " that your place is here this evening.
Hang it all ! you brought the damned police
high and low about my ears. I don't blame you
but it's your doing all the same. You'd better
take this confounded hat off. I can't let you
go out, old girl," he added in a softened voice.

Mrs Verloc's mincl got hold of that declara-
tion with morbid tenacity. The man who had
taken Stevie out from under her very eyes to

364 THE SECRET AGENT

murder him in a locality whose name was at
the moment not present to her memory would
not allow her go out. Of course he wouldn't.
Now he had murdered Stevie he would never
let her go. He would want to keep her
for nothing. And on this characteristic reason-
ing, having all the force of insane logic, Mrs
Verloc's disconnected wits went to work practi-
cally. She could slip by him, open the door, run
out. But he would dash out after her, seize
her round the body, drag her back into the
shop. She could scratch, kick, and bite and
stab too ; but for stabbing she wanted a knife.
Mrs Verloc sat still under her black veil, in her
own house, like a masked and mysterious visitor
of impenetrable intentions.

Mr Verloc's magnanimity was not more than
human. She had exasperated him at last.

"Can't you say something? You have
your own dodges for vexing a man. Oh yes !
I know your deaf-and-dumb trick. I've seen
you at it before to-day. But just now it won't
do. And to begin with, take this damned thing
off. One can't tell whether one is talking to a
dummy or to a live woman."

He advanced, and stretching out his hand,
dragged the veil off/unmasking a still, unreadable
face, against which his nervous exasperation was

THE SECRET AGENT 865

shattered like a glass bubble flung against a
rock. "That's better," he said, to cover his
momentary uneasiness, and retreated back to
his old station by the mantelpiece. It never
entered his head that his wife could give him
up. He felt a little ashamed of himself, for he
was fond and generous. What could he do?
Everything had been said already. He pro-
tested vehemently.

" By heavens ! You know that I hunted
high and low. I ran the risk of giving myself
away to find somebody for that accursed job.
And I tell you again I couldn't find anyone
crazy enough or hungry enough. What do
you take me for a murderer, or what ? The
boy is gone. Do you think I wanted him to
blow himself up ? He's gone. His troubles
are over. Ours are just going to begin, I tell
you, precisely because he did blow himself up.
I don't blame you. But just try to understand
that it was a pure accident ; as much an
accident as if he had been run over by a 'bus
while crossing the street"

His generosity was not infinite, because he
was a human being and not a monster, as Mrs
Verloc believed him to be. He paused, and a
snarl lifting his moustaches above a gleam of
white teeth gave him the expression of a reflec-

366 THE SECRET AGENT

tive beast, not very dangerous a slow beast
with a sleek head, gloomier than a seal, and
with a husky voice.

"And when it comes to that, it's as much
your doing as mine. That's so. You may
glare as much as you like. I know what you
can do in that way. Strike me dead if I ever
would have thought of the lad for that pur-
pose. It was you who kept on shoving him in
my way when I was half distracted with the
worry of keeping the lot of us out of trouble.
What the devil made you ? One would think
you were doing it on purpose. And I am
damned if I know that you didn't There's no
saying how much of what's going on you have
got hold of on the sly with your infernal don't-
care-a-damn way of looking nowhere in par-
ticular, and saying nothing at all. . . ."

His husky domestic voice ceased for a while.
Mrs Verloc made no reply. Before that silence
he felt ashamed of what he had said But as
often happens to peaceful men in domestic
tiffs, being ashamed he pushed another point

"You have a devilish way of holding your
tongue sometimes," he began again, without rais-
ing his voice. " Enough to make some men go
mad It's lucky for you that I am not so easily
put out as some of them would be by your deaf-

THE SECRET AGENT 367

and-dumb sulks. I am fond of you. But don't
you go too far. This isn't the time for it We
ought to be thinking of what we've got to do.
And I can't let you go out to-night, galloping
off to your mother with some crazy tale or other
about me. I won't have it. Don't you make
any mistake about it : if you will have it that I
killed the boy, then you've killed him as much
as L"

In sincerity of feeling and openness of state-
ment, these words went far beyond anything
that had ever been said in this home, kept up
on the wages of a secret industry eked out by
the sale of more or less secret wares : the poor
expedients devised by a mediocre mankind for
preserving an imperfect society from the dangers
of moral and physical corruption, both secret
too of their kind. They were spoken because
Mr Verloc had felt himself really outraged ;
but the reticent decencies of this home life,
nestling in a shady street behind a shop where
the sun never shone, remained apparently
undisturbed. Mrs Verloc heard him out with
perfect propriety, and then rose from her chair
in her hat and jacket like a visitor at the end
of a call. She advanced towards her husband,
one arm extended as if for a silent leave-taking.
Her net veil dangling down by one end on the left

368 THE SECRET AGENT

side of her face gave an air of disorderly formality
to her restrained movements. But when she
arrived as far as the hearthrug, Mr Verloc was
no longer standing there. He had moved off
in the direction of the sofa, without raising his
eyes to watch the effect of his tirade. He was
tired, resigned in a truly marital spirit But
he felt hurt in the tender spot of his secret
weakness. If she would go on sulking in that
dreadful overcharged silence why then she
must. She was a master in that domestic art.
Mr Verloc flung himself heavily upon the sofa,
disregarding, as usual the fate of his hat, which,
as if accustomed to take care of itself, made for
a safe shelter under the table.

He was tired. The last particle of his
nervous force had been expended in the wonders
and agonies of this day full of surprising failures
coming at the end of a harassing month of
scheming and insomnia. He was tired. A
man isn't made of stone. Hang everything!
Mr Verloc reposed characteristically, clad in his
outdoor garments. One side of his open over-
coat was lying partly on the ground Mr Verloc
wallowed on his back. But he longed for a
more perfect rest for sleep for a few
hours of delicious forget fulness. That would
come later. Provisionally he rested. And he

THE SECRET AGENT 869

thought : " I wish she would give over this
damned nonsense. It's exasperating."

There must have been something imperfect
in Mrs Verloc's sentiment of regained freedom.
Instead of taking the way of the door she leaned
back, with her shoulders against the tablet of the
mantelpiece, as a wayfarer rests against a fence.
A tinge of wildness in her aspect was derived
from the black veil hanging like a rag against
her cheek, and from the fixity of her black gaze
where the light of the room was absorbed and
lost without the trace of a single gleam. This
woman, capable of a bargain the mere suspicion
of which would have been infinitely shocking to
Mr Verloc's idea of love, remained irresolute, as
if scrupulously aware of something wanting on
her part for the formal closing of the transaction.

On the sofa Mr Verloc wriggled his shoulders
into perfect comfort, and from the fulness of his
heart emitted a wish which was certainly as
pious as anything likely to come from such a
source.

"I wish to goodness," he growled huskily,
" I had never seen Greenwich Park or any-
thing belonging to it."

The veiled sound filled the small room with
its moderate volume, ^vell adapted to the modest
nature of the wish. The waves of air of the

2 A

370 THE SECRET AGENT

proper length, propagated in accordance with
correct mathematical formulas, flowed around all
the inanimate things in the room, lapped against
Mrs Verloc's head as if it had been a head of
stone. And incredible as it may appear, the
eyes of Mrs Verloc seemed to grow still larger.
The audible wish of Mr Verloc's overflowing
heart flowed into an empty place in his wife's
memory. Greenwich Park. A park ! That's
where the boy was killed. A park smashed
branches, torn leaves, gravel, bits of brotherly
flesh and bone, all spouting up together in the
manner of a firework. She remembered now
what she had heard, and she remembered it
pictorially. They had to gather him up with the
shovel. Trembling all over with irrepressible
shudders, she saw before her the very implement
with its ghastly load scraped up from the ground.
Mrs Verioc closed her eyes desperately, throw-
ing upon that vision the night of her eyelids,
where after a rainlike fall of mangled limbs the
decapitated head of Stevie lingered suspended
alone, and fading out slowly like the last star of
a pyrotechnic display. Mrs Verloc opened her
eyes.

Her face was no longer stony. Anybody
could have noted the subtle change on her
features, in the stare of her eyes, giving her

THE SECRET AGENT 371

a new and startling expression ; an expression
seldom observed by competent persons under
the conditions of leisure and security demanded
for thorough analysis, but whose meaning could
not be mistaken at a glance. Mrs Verloc's
doubts as to the end of the bargain no longer
existed ; her wits, no longer disconnected, were
working under the control of her will. But Mr
Verloc observed nothing. He was reposing in
that pathetic condition of optimism induced by
excess of fatigue. He did not want any more
trouble with his wife too of all people in the
world He had been unanswerable in his
vindication. He was loved for himself. The
present phase of her silence he interpreted
favourably. This was the time to make it up
with her. The silence had lasted long enough.
He broke it by calling to her in an undertone.

" Winnie/'

" Yes," answered obediently Mrs Verloc the
free woman. She commanded her wits now,
her vocal organs ; she felt herself to be in an
almost preternaturally perfect control of every
fibre of her body. It was all her own, because
the bargain was at an end She was clear
sighted. She had become cunning. She chose
to answer him so readily for a purpose. She
did not wish that man to change his position

872 THE SECRET AGENT

on the sofa which was very suitable to the
circumstances. She succeeded The man did
not stir. But after answering him she re-
mained leaning negligently against the mantel-
piece in the attitude of a resting wayfarer.
She was unhurried Her brow was smooth.
The head and shoulders of Mr Verloc were
hidden from her by the high side of the sofa.
She kept her eyes fixed on his feet

She remained thus mysteriously still and
suddenly collected till Mr Verloc was heard
with an accent of marital authority, and moving
slightly to make room for her to sit on the edge
of the sofa.

" Come here/' he said in a peculiar tone,
which might have been the tone of brutality,
but, was intimately known to Mrs Verloc as the
note <rf wooing.

She started forward at once, as if she were
still a loyal woman bound to that man by an
unbroken contract. Her right hand skimmed
slightly the end of the table, and when she had
passed on towards the sofa the carving knife had
vanished without the slightest sound from the
side of the dish. Mr Verloc heard the creaky
plank in the floor, and was content. He waited.
Mrs Verloc was coming. As if the homeless soul
of Stevie had flown for shelter straight to the

THE SECRET AGENT 873

breast of his sister, guardian and protector, the
resemblance of her face with that of her brother
grew at every step, even to the droop of the
lower lip, even to the slight divergence of the
eyes. But Mr Verloc did not see that. He was
lying on his back and staring upwards. He saw
partly on the ceiling and partly on the wall the
moving shadow of an arm with a clenched hand
holding a carving knife. It flickered up and
down. It's movements were leisurely. They
were leisurely enough for Mr Verloc to recognise
the limb and the weapon.

They were leisurely enough for him to take in
the full meaning of the portent, and to taste the
flavour of death rising in his gorge. His wife
had gone raving mad murdering mad. They
were leisurely enough for the first paralysing
effect of this discovery to pass away before a re-
solute determination to come out victorious from
the ghastly struggle with that armed lunatic.
They were leisurely enough for Mr Verloc to
elaborate a plan of defence involving a dash
behind the table, and the felling of the woman
to the ground with a heavy wooden chair. But
they were not leisurely enough to allow Mr
Verloc the time to move either hand or foot.
The knife war, already planted in his breast.
It met no resistance on its way. Hazard has

374 THE SECRET AGENT

such accuracies. Into that plunging blow, de-
livered over the side of the couch, Mrs Verloc
had put all the inheritance of her immemorial
and obscure descent, the simple ferocity of the
age of caverns, and the unbalanced nervous
fury of the age of bar-rooms. Mr Verloc, the
Secret Agent, turning slightly on his side with
the force of the blow, expired without stirring
a limb, in the muttered sound of the word
" Don't " by way of protest.

Mrs Verloc had let go the knife, and her
extraordinary resemblance to her late brother
had faded, had become very ordinary now. She
drew a deep breath, the first easy breath since
Chief Inspector Heat had exhibited to her the
labelled piece of Stevie's overcoat. She leaned
forward on her folded arms over the side of the
sofa. She adopted that easy attitude not in
order to watch or gloat over the body of Mr
Verloc, but because of the undulatory and
swinging movements of the parlour, which for
some time behaved as though it were at sea in
a tempest. She was giddy but calm.*" She had
become a free woman with a perfection of free-
dom which left her nothing to desire and
absolutely nothing to do, since Stevie's urgent
claim on her devotion no longer existed. Mrs
Verloc, who thought in images, was not troubled

THE SECRET AGENT 875

now by visions, because she did not think at
all. And she did not move. She was a woman
enjoying her complete irresponsibility and end-
less leisure, almost in the manner of a corpse.
She did not move, she did not think. Neither
did the mortal envelope of the late Mr Verloc
reposing on the sofa. Except for the fact that
Mrs Verloc breathed these two would have been
perfect in accord: that accord of prudent reserve
without superfluous words, and sparing of signs,
which had been the foundation of their respect-
able home life. For it had been respectable,
covering by a decent reticence the problems
that may arise in the practice of a secret pro-
fession and the commerce of shady wares. To
the last its decorum had remained undisturbed
by unseemly shrieks and other misplaced sin-
cerities of conduct. And after the striking of
the blow, this respectability was continued in
immobility and silence.

Nothing moved in the parlour till Mrs Verloc
raised her head slowly and looked at the clock
with inquiring mistrust. She had become
aware of a ticking sound in the room. It
grew upon her ear, while she remembered
clearly that the clock on the wall was silent,
had no audible tick. What did it mean by be-
ginning to tick so loudly all of a sudden ? Its

THE SECRET AGENT

face indicated ten minutes to nine. Mrs Verloc
cared nothing for time, and the ticking went
on. She concluded it could not be the clock,
and her sullen gaze moved along the walls,
wavered, and became vague, while she strained
her hearing to locate the sound Tic, tie,
tic.

After listening for some time Mrs Verloc
lowered her gaze deliberately on her husband's
body. It's attitude of repose was so home-
like and familiar that she could do so without
feeling embarrassed by any pronounced novelty
in the phenomena of her home life. Mr Verloc
was taking his habitual ease. He looked com-
fortable.

By the position of the body the face of Mr
Verloc was not visible to Mrs Verloc, his widow.
Her fine, sleepy eyes, travelling downward on
the track of the sound, became contemplative
on meeting a flat object of bone which pro-
truded a little beyond the edge of the sofa. It
was the handle of the domestic carving knife
with nothing strange about it but its position at
right angles to Mr Verloc's waistcoat and the
fact that something dripped from it. Dark drops
fell on the floorcloth one after another, with a
sound of ticking growing fast and furious like the
pulse of an insane clock. At its highest speed

THE SECRET AGENT 377

this ticking changed into a continuous sound of
trickling. Mrs Verloc watched that transforma-
tion with shadows of anxiety coming and going
on her face. It was a trickle, dark, swift,
thin. . . . Blood!

At this unforeseen circumstance Mrs Verloc
abandoned her pose of idleness and irre-
sponsibility.

With a sudden snatch at her skirts and a
faint shriek she ran to the door, as if the trickle
had been the first sign of a destroying flood.
Finding the table in her way she gave it a
push with both hands as though it had been
alive, with such force that it went for some
distance on its four legs, making a loud, scrap-
ing racket, whilst the big dish with the joint
crashed heavily on the floor.

Then all became still. Mrs Verloc on
reaching the door had stopped A round hat
disclosed in the middle of the floor by the
moving of the table rocked slightly on its
crown in the wind of her flight.

XII

1JTINNIE VERLOC, the widow of Mr
* * Verloc, the sister of the late faithful
Stevie (blown to fragments in a state of in-
nocence and in the conviction of being engaged
in a humanitarian enterprise), did not run
beyond the door of the parlour. She had
indeed run away so far from a mere trickle
of blood, but that was a movement of in-
stinctive repulsion. And there she had paused,
with staring eyes and lowered head. As
though she had run through long years in her
flight across the small parlour, Mrs Verloc
by the door was quite a different person from
the woman who had been leaning over the sofa,
a little swimmy in her head, but otherwise free
to enjoy the profound calm of idleness and
irresponsibility. Mrs Verloc was no longer
giddy. Her head was steady. On the other
hand, she was no longer calm. She was afraid.
If she avoided looking in the direction of her
reposing husband it was not because she was
afraid of him. Mr Verloc was not frightful to
behold. He looked comfortable. Moreover,

378

THE SECRET AGENT 879

he was dead. Mrs Verloc entertained no
vain delusions on the subject of the dead.
Nothing brings then* back, neither love nor
hate. They can do nothing to you. They
are as nothing. Her mental state was tinged
by a sort of austere contempt for that man
who had let himself be killed so easily. He
had been the master of a house, the husband
of a woman, and the murderer of her Stevie.
And now he was of no account in every re-
spect. He was of less practical account than
the clothing on his body, than his overcoat,
than his boots than that hat lying on the floor.
He was nothing. He was not worth looking at.
He was even no longer the murderer of poor
Stevie. The only murderer that would be
found in the room when people came to look
for Mr Verloc would be herself !

Her hands shook so that she failed twice in
the task of refastening her veil. Mrs Verloc
was no longer a person of leisure and responsi-
bility. She was afraid. The stabbing of Mr
Verloc had been only a blow. It had relieved
the pent-up agony of shrieks strangled in her
throat, of tears dried up in her hot eyes, of the
maddening and indignant rage at the atrocious
part played by that .man, who was less than
nothing now, in robbing her of the boy.

380 THE SECRET AGENT

It had been an obscurely prompted blow.
The blood trickling on the floor off the handle
of the knife had turned it into an extremely
plain case of murder. Mrs Verloc, who always
refrained from looking deep into things, was
compelled to look into the very bottom of this
thing. She saw there no haunting face, no
reproachful shade, no vision of remorse, no
sort of ideal conception. She saw there an
object. That object was the gallows. Mrs
Verloc was afraid of the gallows.

She was terrified of them ideally. Having
never set eyes on that last argument of men's
justice qxcept in illustrative woodcuts to a
certain type of tales, she first saw them erect
against a black and stormy background, fes-
tooned with chains and human bones, circled
about by birds that peck at dead men's eyes.
This was frightful enough, but Mrs Verloc,
though not a well-informed woman, had a suf-
ficient knowledge of the institutions of her
country to know that gallows are no longer
erected romantically on the banks of dismal rivers
or on wind-swept headlands, but in the yards of
jails. There within four high walls, as if into a
pit, at dawn of day, the murderer was brought
out to be executed, with a horrible quietness
and, as the reports in the newspapers always

THE SECRET AGENT 881

said, "in the presence of the authorities/'
With her eyes staring on the floor, her nostrils
quivering with anguish and shame, she imagined
herself all alone amongst a lot of strange gentle-
men in silk hats who were calmly proceeding
about the business of hanging her by the neck,
That never ! Never ! And how was it done ?
The impossibility of imagining the details of such
quiet execution added something maddening to
her abstract terror. The newspapers never gave
any details except one, but that one with some
affectation was always there at the end of a meagre
report. Mrs Verloc remembered its nature. It
came with a cruel burning pain into her head, as
if the words " The drop given was fourteen feet"
had been scratched on her brain with a hot
needle. " The drop given was fourteen feet"

These words affected her physically too.
Her throat became convulsed in waves to resist
strangulation ; and the apprehension of the jerk
was so vivid that she seized her head in both hands
as if to save it from being torn off her shoulders.
"The drop given was fourteen feet/' No ! that
must never be. She could not stand that. The
thought of it even was not bearable. She could
not stand thinking of it. Therefore Mrs Verloc
formed the resolution to go at once and throw
herself into the river off one of the bridges.

382 THE SECRET AGENT

This time she managed to refasten her veil.
With her face as if masked, all black from head
to foot except for some flowers in her hat, she
looked up mechanically at the clock. She
thought it must have stopped. She could not
believe that only two minutes had passed since
she had looked at it last. Of course not. It
had been stopped all the time. As a matter of
fact, only three minutes had elapsed from the
moment she had drawn the first deep, easy
breath after the blow, to this moment when
Mrs Verloc formed the resolution to drown her-
self in the Thames. But Mrs Verloc could not
believe that. She seemed to have heard or read
that clocks and watches always stopped at the
moment ot murder for the undoing of the
murderer. She did not care. " To the bridge
and over I go." . . But her movements
were slow.

She dragged herself painfully across the shop,
and had to hold on to the handle of the door
before she found the necessary fortitude to open
it. The street frightened her, since it led either
to the gallows or to the river. She floundered
over the doorstep head forward, arms thrown
out, like a person falling over the parapet of a
bridge. This entrance into the open air had a
foretaste of drowning; a slimy dampness en-

THE SECRET AGENT 388

veloped her, entered her nostrils, clung to her
hair. It was not actually raining, but each gas
lamp had a rusty little halo of mist. The van
and horses were gone, and in the black street
the curtained window of the carters' eating-
house made a square patch of soiled blood-
red light glowing faintly very near the level
of the pavement. Mrs Verloc, dragging her-
self slowly towards it, thought that she was
a very friendless woman. It was true. It was
so true that, in a sudden longing to see some
friendly face, she could think of no one else but
of Mrs Neale, the charwoman. She had no
acquaintances of her own. Nobody would miss
her in a social way. It must not be imagined
that the Widow Verloc had forgotten her mother.
This was not so. Winnie had been a good
daughter because she had been a devoted sister.
Her mother had always leaned on her for
support. No consolation or advice could be
expected there. Now that Stevie was dead
the bond seemed to be broken. She could not
face the old woman with the horrible tale.
Moreover, it was too far. The river was her
present destination. Mrs Verloc tried to forget
her mother.

Each step cost her an effort of will which
seemed the last possible. Mrs Verloc had

384 THE SECRET AGENT

dragged herself past the red glow of the
eating-house window. "To the bridge and
over I go," she repeated to herself with fierce
obstinacy. She put out her hand just in time to
steady herself against a lamp-post. " I'll never
get there before morning," she thought The
fear of death paralysed her efforts to escape
the gallows. It seemed to her she had been
staggering in that street for hours. " I'll never
get there," she thought. " They '11 find me
knocking about the streets, it's too far." She
held on, panting under her black veil.

" The drpp given was fourteen feet

She pushed the lamp-post away from her
violently, and found herself walking. But
another wave of faintness overtook her like
a gre^f sea^. washing away her heart clean out
of her breast. " I will never get there," she
ihuttered," suddenly arrested, swaying lightly
where she stood. " Never/ 1

And perceiving the utter impossibility of
walking as far as the nearest bridge, Mrs Verloc
thought of a flight abroad.

It came to her suddenly. Murderers es-
caped. They escaped abroad. Spain or
California. Mere names. The vast world
created for the glory of man was only a vast
blank to Mrs Verloc, She did not know which

THE SECRET AGENT 885

way to turn. Murderers had friends, relations,
helpers they had knowledge. She had no-
thing. She was the most lonely of murderers
that ever struck a mortal blow. She was alone
in London . and the whole town of marvels
and mud, with its maze of streets and its mass
of lights, was sunk in a hopeless night, rested
at the bottom of a black abyss from which no
unaided woman could hope to scramble out.

She swayed forward, and made a fresh start
blindly, with an awful dread of falling down ;
but at the end of a few steps, unexpectedly,
she found a sensation of support, of security.
Raising her head, she saw a man's face peering
closely at her veil. Comrade Ossipon was not
afraid of strange women, and no feeling of false
delicacy could prevent him from striking an
acquaintance with a woman apparently very
much intoxicated. Comrade Ossipon was in-
terested in women. He held up this one
between his two large palms, peering at her
in a business-like way till he heard her say
faintly " Mr Ossipon ! " and then he very
nearly let her drop to the ground.

" Mrs Verloc ! " he exclaimed. " You here ! "

It seemed impossible to him that she should

have been drinking. But one never knows.

He did not go into that question, but attentive

2B

386 THE SECRET AGENT

not to discourage kind fate surrendering to
him the widow of Comrade Verloc, he tried to
draw her to his breast. To his astonishment
she came quite easily, and even rested on his
arm for a moment before she attempted to dis-
engage herself. Comrade Ossipon would not
be brusque with kind fate. He withdrew his
arm in a natural way.

" You recognised me/' she faltered out, stand-
ing before him, fairly steady on her legs.

"Of course I did," said Ossipon with per-
fect readiness. " I was afraid you were
going to fall. I've thought of you too often
lately not to recognise you anywhere, at any
time* I've always thought of you ever since
I first set eyes on you."

Mrs Verloc seemed not to hear. " You were
coming to the shop ? " she said nervously.

',' Yes ; at once," answered Ossipon. " Directly
I read the paper."

Jn fact, Comrade Ossipon had been skulking
for a .good two hours in the neighbourhood of
Brett Street, unable to make up his mind for
a bold move. The robust anarchist was not
exactly a bold conqueror. He remembered
that Mrs Verloc had never responded to his
glances by the slightest sign of encourage-
ment Besides, he thought the shop might

THE SECRET AGENT 387

be watched by the police, and Comrade
Ossipon did not wish the police to form an
exaggerated notion of his revolutionary sym-
pathies. Even now he did not know precisely
what to do. In comparison with his usual
amatory speculations this was a big and
serious undertaking. He ignored how much
there was in it and how far he would have to
go in order to get hold of what there was to
get supposing there was a chance at all.
These perplexities checking his elation im-
parted to his tone a soberness well in keeping
with the circumstances.

" May I ask you where you were going ? " he
inquired in a subdued voice.

" Don't ask me ! " cried Mrs Verloc with
a shuddering, repressed violence. All her
strong vitality recoiled from the idea of death.
" Never mind where I was going. . . ."

Ossipon concluded that she was very much
excited but perfectly sober. She remained silent
by his side for moment, then all at once she did
something which he did not expect. She slipped
her hand under his arm. He was startled by
the act itself certainly, and quite as much too
by the palpably resolute character of this move-
ment. But this being a delicate affair, Comrade
Ossipon behaved with delicacy. He contented

388 THE SECRET AGENT

himself by pressing the hand slightly against
his robust ribs. At the same time he felt
himself being impelled forward, and yielded to
the impulse. At the end of Brett Street he
became aware of being directed to the left. He
submitted.

The fruiterer at the corner had put out the
blazing glory of his oranges and lemons, and
Brett Place was all darkness, interspersed with
the misty halos of the few lamps defining its
triangular shape, with a cluster of three lights
on one stand in the middle. The dark forms
of the man and woman glided slowly arm in
arm along the walls with a loverlike and home-
less aspect in the miserable night.

''What would you say if I were to tell you
that I was going to find you ? " Mrs Verloc
asked, gripping his arm with force.

" I would say that you couldn't find anyone
more ready to help you in your trouble/ 1
answered Ossipon, with a notion of making
tremendous headway. In fact, the progress of
this delicate affair was almost taking his breath
away.

" In my trouble!" Mrs Verloc repeated slowly.

"Yes."

" And do you know what my trouble is ? " she
whispered with strange intensity.

THE SECRET AGENT 889

" Ten minutes after seeing the evening paper,"
explained Ossipon with ardour, " I met a fellow
whom you may have seen once or twice at the
shop perhaps, and I had a talk with him which
left no doubt whatever in my mind. Then I

started for here, wondering whether you

I've been fond of you beyond words ever since
I set eyes on your face," he cried, as if unable to
command his feelings.

Comrade Ossipon assumed correctly that no
woman was capable of wholly disbelieving such
a statement. But he did not know that Mrs
Verloc accepted it with all the fierceness the
instinct of self-preservation puts into the grip
of a drowning person. To the widow of Mr
Verloc the robust anarchist was like a radiant
messenger of life.

They walked slowly, in step. " I thought
so," Mrs Verloc murmured faintly.

"You've read it in my eyes," suggested
Ossipon with great assurance.

14 Yes," she breathed out into his inclined
ear.

" A love like mine could not be concealed
from a woman like you," he went on, trying to
detach his mind from material considerations
such as the business value of the shop, and the
amount of money Mr Verloc might have left in

890 THE SECRET AGENT

the bank. He applied himself to the senti-
mental side of the affair. In his heart of hearts
he was a little shocked at his success. Verloc
had been a good fellow, and certainly a very
decent husband as far as one could see. How-
ever, Comrade Ossipon was not going to quarrel
with his luck for the sake of a dead man. Re-
solutely he suppressed his sympathy for the
ghost of Comrade Verloc, and went on.

" I could not conceal it. I was too full of
you. I daresay you could not help seeing it
in my eyes. But I could not guess it. You
were always so distant. ..."

" What else did you expect ? " burst out Mrs
Verloc. " I was a respectable woman "

She paused, then added, as if speaking to
herself, in sinister resentment: "Till he made
me what I am."

XDssipan let that pass, and took up his running.

" He never did seem to me to be quite worthy
of you/' he began, throwing loyalty to the winds.
" You were worthy of a better fate."

Mrs Verloc interrupted bitterly :

" Better fate ! He cheated me out of seven
years of life."

''You seemed to live so happily with him."
Ossipon tried to exculpate the lukewarmness
of his past conduct. " It's that what's made

THE SECRET AGENT 391

me timid You seemed to love him. I was
surprised and jealous/' he added.

" Love him ! " Mrs Verloc cried out in a
whisper full of scorn and rage. " Love him !
I was a good wife to him. I am a respectable
woman. You thought I loved him ! You did !
Look here, Tom "

The sound of this name thrilled Comrade
Ossipon with pride. For his name was Alex-
ander, and he was called Tom by arrangement
with the most familiar of his intimates. It was
a name of friendship of moments of expansion.
He had no idea that she had ever heard it used
by anybody. It was apparent that she had not
only caught it, but had treasured it in her
memory perhaps in her heart.

" Look here, Tom ! I was a young girl. I
was done up. I was tired. I had two people
depending on what I could do, and it did seem
as if I couldn't do any more. Two people
mother and the boy. He was much more
mine than mother's. I sat up nights and nights
with him on my lap, all alone upstairs, when I
wasn't more than eight years old myself. And

then He was mine, I tell you. . . . You

can't understand that. No man can understand
it. What was I to do ? There was a young
fellow "

392 THE SECRET AGENT

The memory of the early romance with the
young butcher survived, tenacious, like the image
of a glimpsed ideal in that heart quailing before
the fear of the gallows and full of revolt against
death.

"That was the man I loved then," went on
the widow of Mr Verloc. " I suppose he could
see it in my eyes too. Five and twenty
shillings a week, and his father threatened
to kick him out of the business if he made
such a fool of himself as to marry a girl with
a crippled mother and a crazy idiot of a boy
on her hands. But he would han^ about me,
till one evening I found the courage to slam the
door in his face. I had to do it. I loved him
dearly. Five and twenty shillings a week !
There was that other man a good lodger.
What is a girl to do ? Could I've gone on the
streets ? He seemed kind. He wanted me, any-
how. What was I to do with mother and that
poor boy ? Eh ? I said yes. He seemed good-
natured, he was freehanded, he had money, he
never said anything. Seven years seven years
a good wife to him, the kind, the good, the

generous, the And he loved me. Oh yes.

He loved me till I sometimes wished myself

Seven years. Seven years a wife to him. And
do you know what he was, that dear friend of

THE SECRET AGENT 898

yours ? Do you know what he was ? . . . He
was a devil ! "

The superhuman vehemence of that whis-
pered statement completely stunned Comrade
Ossipon. Winnie Verloc turning about held
him by both arms, facing him under the falling
mist in the darkness and solitude of Brett
Place, in which all sounds of life seemed lost
as if in a triangular well of asphalt and bricks,
of blind houses and unfeeling stones.

" No ; I didn't know," he declared, with a
sort of flabby stupidity, whose comical aspect
was lost upon a woman haunted by the fear of
the gallows, " but I do now. I I understand,"
he floundered on, his mind speculating as to
what sort of atrocities Verloc could have prac-
tised under the sleepy, placid appearances of
his married estate. It was positively awful.
"I understand," he repeated, and then by a
sudden inspiration uttered an " Unhappy
woman ! " of lofty commiseration instead of
the more familiar " Poor darling ! " of his usual
practice. This was no usual case. He felt
conscious of something abnormal going on,
while he never lost sight of the greatness of
the stake. " Unhappy, brave woman ! "

He was glad to have discovered that varia-
tion ; but he could discover nothing else.

394 THE SECRET AGENT

"Ah, but he is dead now/' was the best he
could do. And he put a remarkable amount
of animosity into his guarded exclamation. Mrs
Verloc caught at his arm with a sort of frenzy.
" You guessed then he was dead," she mur-
mured, as if beside herself. "You! You
guessed what I had to do. Had to!"

There were suggestions of triumph, relief,
gratitude in the indefinable tone of these
words. It engrossed the whole attention of
Ossipon to the detriment of mere literal sense.
He wondered what was up with her, why she had
worked herself into this state of wild excite-
ment. He even began to wonder whether the
hidden causes of that Greenwich Park affair
did not lie deep in the unhappy circumstances
of the Verlocs* married life. He went so far as
to suspect Mr Verloc of having selected that
extraordinary manner of committing suicide.
By Jove ! that would account for the utter
inanity and wrong-headedness of the thing.
No anarchist manifestation was required by
the circumstances. Quite the contrary ; and
Verloc was as well aware of that as any other
revolutionist of his standing. What an im-
mense joke if Verloc had simply made fools of
the whole of Europe, of the revolutionary world,
of the police, of the press, and of the cocksure

THE SECRET AGENT 895

Professor as well. Indeed, thought Ossipon,
in astonishment, it seemed almost certain that
he did ! Poor beggar ! It struck him as very
possible that of that household of two it wasn't
precisely the man who was the devil.

Alexander Ossipon, nicknamed the Doctor,
was naturally inclined to think indulgently of his
men friends. He eyed Mrs Verloc hanging on
his arm. Of his women friends he thought in a
specially practical way. Why Mrs Verloc should
exclaim at his knowledge of Mr Verloc's death,
which was no guess at all, did not disturb him
beyond measure. They often talked like
lunatics. But he was curious to know how she
had been informed. The papers could tell her
nothing beyond the mere fact : the man blown
to pieces in Greenwich Park not having been
identified. It was inconceivable on any theory
that Verloc should have given her an inkling
of his intention whatever it was. This pro-
blem interested Comrade Ossipon immensely.
He stopped short. They had gone then along
the three sides of Brett Place, and were near
the end of Brett Street again.

" How did you first come to hear of it ? "
he asked in a tone he tried to render appropriate
to the character of the revelations which had
been made to him by the woman at his side.

396 THE SECRET AGENT

She shook violently for a while before she
answered in a listless voice.

" From the police. A chief inspector came.
Chief Inspector Heat he said he was. He
showed me "

Mrs Verloc choked. " Oh, Tom, they had to
gather him up with a shovel."

Her breast heaved with dry sobs. In a
moment Ossipon found his tongue.

" The police ! Do you mean to say the
police came already? That Chief Inspector
Heat himself actually came to tell you ? "

"Yes," s'he confirmed in the same listless
tone. " He came. Just like this. He came.
I didn't know. He showed me a piece of over-
coat, and Just like that. ' Do you know

this ? ' he says."

"Heat! Heat! And what did he do?"

Mrs Verloc's head dropped. "Nothing.
He did nothing. He went away. The police
were on that man's side," she murmured
tragically. "Another one came too."

"Another another inspector, do you mean ? "
asked Ossipon, in great excitement, and very
much in the tone of a scared child.

" I don't know. He came. He looked
like a foreigner. He may have been one of
them Embassy people."

THE SECRET AGENT 897

Comrade Ossipon nearly collapsed under
this new shock.

" Embassy ! Are you aware what you are
saying ? What Embassy ? What on earth do
you mean by Embassy ?"

"It's that place in Chesham Square. The
people he cursed so, I don't know. What does
it matter ! "

" And that fellow, what did he do or say to
you?"

41 1 don't remember .... Nothing .... I don't
care. Don't ask me," she pleaded in a weary
voice.

" All right I won't," assented Ossipon
tenderly. And he meant it too, not because
he was touched by the pathos of the pleading
voice, but because he felt himself losing his
footing in the depths of this tenebrous affair.
Police! Embassy! Phew! For fear of ad-
venturing his intelligence into ways where its
natural lights might fail to guide it safely he dis-
missed resolutely all suppositions, surmises, and
theories out of his mind. He had the woman
there, absolutely flinging herself at him, and
that was the principal consideration. But after
what he had heard nothing could astonish him
any more. And when Mrs Verloc, as if startled
suddenly out of a dream of safety, began to urge

398 THE SECRET AGENT

upon him wildly the necessity of an immediate
flight on the Continent, he did not exclaim in
the least. He simply said with unaffected regret
that there was no train till the morning, and
stood looking thoughtfully at her face, veiled in
black net, in the light of a gas lamp veiled in
a gauze of mist.

Near him, her black form merged in the
night, like a figure half chiselled out of a block
of black stone. It was impossible to say what
she knew, how deep she was involved with
policemen and Embassies. But if she wanted
to get away, it was not for him to object. He
was anxious to be off himself. He felt that
the business, the shop so strangely familiar to
chief inspectors and members of foreign Em-
bassies, was not the place for him. That must
be dropped. But there was the rest. These
savings. The money !

" You must hide me till the morning some-
where," she said in a dismayed voice.

" Fact is, my dear, I can't take you where I
live. I share the room with a friend."

He was somewhat dismayed himself. In the
morning the blessed 'tecs will be out in all the
stations, no doubt. And if they once got hold
of her, for one reason or another she would be
lost to him indeed

THE SECRET AGENT 399

" But you must. Don't you care for me at
all at all ? What are you thinking of? "

She said this violently, but she let her clasped
hands fall in discouragement. There was a
silence, while the mist fell, and darkness reigned
undisturbed over Brett Place. Not a soul, not
even the vagabond, lawless, and amorous soul of
a cat, came near the man and the woman facing
each other.

" It would be possible perhaps to find a safe
lodging somewhere/' Ossipon spoke at last
" But the truth is, my dear, I have not enough
money to go and try with only a few pence.
We revolutionists are not rich."

He had fifteen shillings in his pocket. He
added :

" And there's the journey before us, too first
thing in the morning at that."

She did not move, made no sound, and
Comrade Ossipon's heart sank a little. Appar-
ently she had no suggestion to offer. Suddenly
she clutched at her breast, as if she had felt a
sharp pain there.

" But I have," she gasped. " I have the
money. I have enough money. Tom ! Let
us go from here/'

" How much have you got ?" he inquired, with-
out stirring to her tug ; for he was a cautious man.

400 THE SECRET AGENT

"I have the money, I tell you. All the
money."

" What do you mean by it ? All the money
there was in the bank, or what ? " he asked in-
credulously, but ready not to be surprised at
anything in the way of luck.

" Yes, yes ! " she said nervously. " All there
was. I've it all."

" How on earth did you manage to get hold
of it already ? " he marvelled.

" He gave it to me," she murmured, suddenly
subdued and trembling. Comrade Ossipon put
down his rising surprise with a firm hand.

"Why, then we are saved," he uttered
slowly.

She leaned forward, and sank against his
breast He welcomed her there. She had all
the money. Her hat was in the way of very
marked effusion ; her veil too. He was ade-
quate in his manifestations, but no more. She
received them without resistance and without
abandonment, passively, as if only half-sensible.
She freed herself from his lax embraces without
difficulty.

"You will save me, Tom/ 1 she broke out,
recoiling, but still keeping her hold on him by
the two lapels of his damp coat. " Save me.
Hide me. Don't let them have me. You

THE SECRET AGENT 401

must kill me first. I couldn't do it myself I
couldn't, 1 couldn't not even for what I am
afraid of."

She was confoundedly bizarre, he thought.
She was beginning to inspire him with an in-
definite uneasiness. He said surlily, for he was
busy with important thoughts :

"What the devil are you afraid of?"

" Haven't you guessed what I was driven to
do!'* cried the woman. Distracted by the vivid-
ness of her dreadful apprehensions, her head
ringing with forceful words, that kept the
horror of her position before her mind, she had
imagined her incoherence to be clearness itself.
She had no conscience of how little she had
audibly said in the disjointed phrases completed
only in her thought. She had felt the relief of a
full confession, and she gave a special meaning
to every sentence spoken by Comrade Ossipon,
whose knowledge did not in the least resemble
her own. " Haven't you guessed what I was
driven to do ! " Her voice fell. " You needn't
be long in guessing then what I am afraid of,"
she continued, in a bitter and sombre murmur.
" I won't have it. I won't. I won't. I won't.
You must promise to kill me first ! " She shook
the lapels of his coat. " It must never be ! "

He assured her curtly that no promises on

2C

402 THE SECRET AGENT

his part were necessary, but he took good care
not to contradict her in set terms, because he
had had much to do with excited women, and
he was inclined in general to let his experience
guide his conduct in preference to applying his
sagacity to each special case. His sagacity in
this case was busy in other directions. Women's
words fell into water, but the shortcomings of
time-tables remained. The insular nature of
Great Britain obtruded itself upon his notice
in an odious form. "Might just as well be
put under lock and key every night, he thought
irritably, as non-plussed as though he had a
wall to scale with the woman on his back.
Suddenly he slapped his forehead. He had
by dint of cudgelling his brains just thought
of the Southampton - St Malo service. The
boat left about midnight There was a train
at 10.30. He became cheery and ready to act.

" From Waterloo. Plenty of time. We are
all right after all. . . . What's the matter now ?
This isn't the way/' he protested.

Mrs Verloc, having hooked her arm into his,
was trying to drag him into Brett Street again.

" I've forgotten to shut the shop door as I
went out," she whispered, terribly agitated.

The shop and all that was in it had ceased to
interest Comrade Ossipon. He knew how to

THE SECRET AGENT 403

limit his desires. He was on the point of
saying "What of that? Let it be/ 1 but he
refrained. He disliked, argument about trifles.
He even mended his pace considerably on the
thought that she might have left the money in
the drawer. But his willingness lagged behind
her feverish impatience.

The shop seemed to be quite dark at first.
The door stood ajar. Mrs Verloc, leaning
against the front, gasped out :

" Nobody has been in. Look ! The light
the light in the parlour."

Ossipon, stretching his head forward, saw a
faint gleam in the darkness of the shop.

" There is," he said.

" I forgot it." Mrs Verloc's voice came from
behind her veil faintly. And as he stood
waiting for her to enter first, she said louder :
"Go in and put it out or I'll go mad."

He made no immediate objection to this
proposal, so strangely motived. " Where's all
that money ? " he asked.

" On me ! Go, Tom. Quick ! Put it out. . . .
Go in !" she cried, seizing him by both shoulders
from behind.

Not prepared for a display of physical force,
Comrade Ossipon stumbled far into the shop
before her push. He was astonished at the

404 THE SECRET AGENT

strength of the woman and scandalised by her
proceedings. But he did not retrace his steps
in order to remonstrate with her severely in
the street He was beginning to be disagree-
ably impressed by her fantastic behaviour.
Moreover, this or never was the time to
humour the woman. Comrade Ossipon avoided
easily the end of the counter, and approached
calmly the glazed door of the parlour. The
curtain over the panes being drawn back a
little he, by a very natural impulse, looked in,
just as he made ready to turn the handle. He
looked in without a thought, without intention,
without curiosity of any sort. He looked in
because he could not help looking in. He
looked in, and discovered Mr Verloc reposing
quietly on the sofa.

A yell coming from the innermost depths of
his chest died out unheard and transformed into
a sort of greasy, sickly taste on his lips. At the
same time the mental personality of Comrade
Ossipon executed a frantic leap backward But
his body, left thus without intellectual guidance,
held on to the door handle with the unthinking
force of an instinct. The robust anarchist did
not even totter. And he stared, his face close
to the glass, his eyes protruding out of his head.
He would have given anything to get away,

THE SECRET AGENT 405

but his returning reason informed him that it
would not do to let go the door handle. What
was it madness, a nightmare, or a trap into
which he had been decoyed with fiendish art-
fulness ? Why what for ? He did not know.
Without any sense of guilt in his breast, in the
full peace of his conscience as far as these people
were concerned, the idea that he would be
murdered for mysterious reasons by the couple
Verloc passed not so much across his mind as
across the pit of his stomach, and went out,
leaving behind a trail of sickly faintness an
indisposition. Comrade Ossipon did not feel
very well in a very special way for a moment
a long moment. And he stared. Mr Verloc
lay very still meanwhile, simulating sleep for
reasons of his own, while that savage woman
of his was guarding the door invisible and
silent in the dark and deserted street. Was
all this a some sort of terrifying arrangement
invented by the police for his especial benefit ?
His modesty shrank from that explanation.

But the true sense of the scene he was
beholding came to Ossipon through the con-
templation of the hat. It seemed an extra-
ordinary thing, an ominous object, a sign.
Black, and rim upward, it lay on the floor
before the couch as if prepared to receive the

406 THE SECRET AGENT

contributions of pence from people who would
come presently to behold Mr Verloc in the full-
ness of his domestic ease reposing on a sofa.
From the hat the eyes of the robust anarchist
wandered to the displaced table, gazed at the
broken dish for a time, received a kind of optical
shock from observing a white gleam under the
imperfectly closed eyelids of the man on the
couch. Mr Verloc did not seem so much asleep
now as lying down with a bent head and look-
ing insistently at his left breast. And when
Comrade Qssipon had made out the handle of
the knife he turned away from the glazed door,
and retched violently.

The crash of the street door flung to made
his very soul leap in a panic. This house with
its harmless tenant could still be made a trap
of a trap of a terrible kind. Comrade Ossipon
had no settled conception now of what was
happening to him. Catching his thigh against
the end of the counter, he spun round, staggered
with a cry of pain, felt in the distracting clatter
of the bell his arms pinned to his side by a
convulsive hug, while the cold lips of a woman
moved creepily on his very ear to form the
words :

" Policeman ! He has seen me ! "

He ceased to struggle ; she never let him go.

SECRET AGENT 407

Her hands had locked themselves with an in-
separable twist of fingers on his robust back.
While the footsteps approached, they breathed
quickly, breast to breast, with hard, laboured
breaths, as if theirs had been the attitude of a
deadly struggle, while, in fact, it was the attitude
of deadly fear. And the time was long.

The constable on the beat had in truth seen
something of Mrs Verloc ; only coming from
the lighted thoroughfare at the other end of
Brett Street, she had been no more to him than
a flutter in the darkness. And he was not even
quite sure that there had been a flutter. He
had no reason to hurry up. On coming abreast
of the shop he observed that it had been closed
early. There was nothing very unusual in that.
The men on duty had special instructions about
that shop : what went on about there was not
to be meddled with unless absolutely disorderly,
but any observations made were to be re-
ported. There were no observations to make ;
but from a sense of duty and for the peace of
his conscience, owing also to that doubtful
flutter of the darkness, the constable crossed
the road, and tried the door. The spring
latch, whose key was reposing for ever off duty
in the late Mr Verloc's waistcoat pocket, held
as well as usual While the conscientious officer

408 THE SECRET AGENT

was shaking the handle, Ossipon felt the cold
lips of the woman stirring again creepily against
his very ear :

" If he comes in kill me kill me, Tom."

The constable moved away, flashing as he
passed the light of his dark lantern, merely for
form's sake, at the shop window. For a moment
longer the man and the woman inside stood
motionless, panting, breast to breast ; then her
fingers came unlocked, her arms fell by her side
slowly. Ossipon leaned against the counter.
The robust anarchist wanted support badly.
This was awful. He was almost too disgusted
for speech. Yet he managed to utter a plain-
tive thought, showing at least that he realised
his position.

"Only a couple of minutes later and you'd
have made me blunder against the fellow
poking about here with his damned dark
lantern."

The widow of Mr Verloc, motionless in the
middle of the shop, said insistently :

" Go in and put that light out, Tom. It
will drive me crazy."

She saw vaguely his vehement gesture of
refusal. Nothing in the world would have in-
duced Ossipon to go into the parlour. He
was not superstitious, but there was too much

THE SECRET AGENT 409

blood on the floor ; a beastly pool of it all
round the hat He judged he had been al-
ready far too near that corpse for his peace
of mind for the safety of his neck, perhaps!

"At the meter then I There. Look. In
that corner." *

The robust form of Comrade Ossipon, striding
brusque and shadowy across the shop, squatted
in a corner obediently ; but this obedience was
without grace. He fumbled nervously and
suddenly in the sound of a muttered curse the
light behind the glazed door flicked out to a
gasping, hysterical sigh of a woman. Night,
the inevitable reward of men's faithful labours
on this earth, night had fallen on Mr Verloc,
the tried revolutionist " one of the old lot "
the humble guardian of society ; the invaluable
Secret Agent A of Baron Stott-Wartenheim s
despatches ; a servant of law and order, faith-
ful, trusted, accurate, admirable, with perhaps
one single amiable weakness : the idealistic
belief in being loved for himself.

Ossipon groped his way back through the
stuffy atmosphere, as black as ink now, to the
counter. The voice of Mrs Verloc, standing
in the middle of the shop, vibrated after him
in that blackness with a desperate protest.

" I will not be hanged, Tom, I will not "

410 THE SECRET AGENT

She broke off. Ossipon from the counter
issued a warning : " Don't shout like this/' then
seemed to reflect profoundly. "You did this
thing quite by yourself?" he inquired in a
hollow voice, but with an appearance of master-
ful calmness which filled Mrs Verloc's heart with
grateful confidence in his protecting strength.

11 Yes," she whispered, invisible.

" 1 wouldn't have believed it possible/* he
muttered. " Nobody would." She heard him
move about and the snapping of a lock in
the parlour door. Comrade Ossipon had
turned the 'key on Mr Verloc's repose; and
this he did not from reverence for its eternal
nature or any other obscurely sentimental
consideration, but for the precise reason that
he was not at all sure that there was not some-
one else hiding somewhere in the house. He
did not believe the woman, or rather he was
incapable by now of judging what could be
true, possible, or even probable in this astound-
ing universe. He was terrified out of all
capacity for belief or disbelief in regard of
this extraordinary affair, which began with
police inspectors and Embassies and would
end goodness knows where on the scaffold
for someone. He was terrified at the thought
that he could not prove the use he made of his

THE SECRET AGENT 411

time ever since seven o'clock, for he had been
skulking about Brett Street. He was terrified
at this savage woman who had brought him
in there, and would probably saddle him with
complicity, at least if he were not careful. He
was terrified at the rapidity with which he had
been involved in such dangers decoyed into
it. It was some twenty minutes since he had
met her not more.

The voice of Mrs Verloc rose subdued, plead-
ing piteously : " Don't let them hang me,
Tom ! Take me out of the country. I'll work
for you. I'll slave for you. I'll love you. I've
no one in the world. . . . Who would look at me
if you don't ! " She ceased for a moment ; then
in the depths of the loneliness made round her
by an insignificant thread of blood trickling
off the handle of a knife, she found a dreadful
inspiration to her who had been the respect-
able girl of the Belgravian mansion, the loyal,
respectable wife of Mr Verloc. " I won't ask
you to marry me," she breathed out in shame-
faced accents.

She moved a step forward in the darkness,
He was terrified at her. He would not have
been surprised if she had suddenly produced
another knife destined for his breast He
certainly would have made no resistance. He

412 THE SECRET AGENT

had really not enough fortitude in him just
then to tell her to keep back. But he in-
quired in a cavernous, strange tone : " Was he
asleep ? "

" No," she cried, and went on rapidly. " He
wasn't Not he. He had been telling me
that nothing could touch him. After taking
the boy away from under my very eyes to kill
him the loving, innocent, harmless lad. My
own, I tell you. He was lying on the couch
quite easy after killing the boy my boy.
I would have gone on the streets to get out
of his sight. And he says to me like this :
' Come here/ after telling me I had helped to
kill the boy. You hear, Tom ? He says like
this : ' Come here/ after taking my very heart
out of me along with the boy to smash in the
dirt."

She ceased, then dreamily repeated twice :
" Blood and dirt. Blood and dirt." A great
light broke upon Comrade Ossipon. It was
that half-witted lad then who had perished in the
park. And the fooling of everybody all round
appeared more complete than ever colossal.
He exclaimed scientifically, in the extremity
of his astonishment : " The degenerate by
heavens ! "

" Come here." The voice of Mrs Verloc rose

THE SECRET AGENT 418

again. "What did he think I was made of?
Tell me, Tom. Come here ! Me ! Like this !
I had been looking at the knife, and I thought I
would come then if he wanted me so much. Oh
yes ! I came for the last time. . . . With the
knife."

He was excessively terrified at her the sister
of the degenerate a degenerate herself of a
murdering type ... or else of the lying type.
Comrade Ossipon might have been said to be
terrified scientifically in addition to all other
kinds of fear. It was an immeasurable and
composite funk, which from its very excess gave
him in the dark a false appearance of calm and
thoughtful deliberation. For he moved and
spoke with difficulty, being as if half frozen in
his will and mind and no one could see his
ghastly face. He felt half dead.

He leaped a foot high. Unexpectedly Mrs
Verloc had desecrated the unbroken reserved
decency of her home by a shrill and terrible
shriek.

" Help, Tom ! Save me. I won't be
hanged ! "

He rushed forward, groping for her mouth
with a silencing hand, and the shriek died out.
But in his rush he had knocked her over. He
felt her now clinging round his legs, and his

414 THE SECRET AGENT

terror reached its culminating point, became
a sort of intoxication, entertained delusions,
acquired the characteristics of delirium tremens.
He positively saw snakes now. He saw the
woman twined round him like a snake, not to
be shaken off She was not deadly. She was
death itself the companion of life.

Mrs Verloc, as if relieved by the outburst, was
very far from behaving noisily now. She was
pitiful.

" Tom, you can't throw me off now/' she mur-
mured from the floor. " Not unless you crush
my head under your heel. I won't leave you."

" Get up/ 1 said Ossipon.

His face was so pale as to be quite visible
in the profound black darkness of the shop ;
while Mrs Verloc, veiled, had no face, almost no
discernible form. The trembling of something
small and white, a flower in her hat, marked her
place, her movements.

It rose in the blackness. She had got up
from the floor, and Ossipon regretted not
having run out at once into the street. But
he perceived easily that it would not do. It
would not do. She would run after him. She
would pursue him shrieking till she sent every
policeman within hearing in chase. And then
goodness only knew what she would say of

THE SECRET AGENT 415

him. He was so frightened that for a moment
the insane notion of strangling her in the dark
passed through his mind. And he became
more frightened than ever! She had him!
He saw himself living in abject terror in some
obscure hamlet in Spain or Italy ; till some
fine morning they found him dead too, with a
knife in his breast like Mr Verloc. He sighed
deeply. He dared not move. And Mrs Verloc
waited in silence the good pleasure of her saviour,
deriving comfort from his reflective silence.

Suddenly he spoke up in an almost natural
voice. His reflections had come to an end

" Let's get out, or we will lose the train/'

" Where are we going to, Tom ? " she asked
timidly. Mrs Verloc was no longer a free
woman.

" Let's get to Paris first, the best way we can.
. e . Go out first, and see if the way's clear."

She obeyed. Her voice came subdued
through the cautiously opened door.

" It's all right. 11

Ossipon came out. Notwithstanding his en-
deavours to be gentle, the cracked bell clattered
behind the closed door in the empty shop, as
if trying in vain to warn the reposing Mr
Verloc of the final departure of his wife
accompanied by his friend,

416 THE SECRET AGENT

In the hansom, they presently picked up, the
robust anarchist became explanatory. He was
still awfully pale, with eyes that seemed to have
sunk a whole half-inch into his tense face. But
he seemed to have thought of everything with
extraordinary method.

"When we arrive," he discoursed in a queer,
monotonous tone, " you must go into the station
ahead of me, as if we did not know each other.
I will take the tickets, and slip in yours into your
hand as I pass you. Then you will go into the
first-class ladies' waiting-room, and sit there till
ten minutes before the train starts. Then you
come out. I will be outside. You go in first
on the platform, as if you did not know me.
There may be eyes watching there that know
what's what Alone you are only a woman
going off by train. I am known. With me,
you may be guessed at as Mrs Verloc running
away. Do you understand, my dear ? " he
added, with an effort.

"Yes," said Mrs Verloc, sitting there against
him in the hansom all rigid with the dread of
the gallows and the fear of death. " Yes, Tom."
And she added to herself, like an awful refrain :
" The drop given was fourteen feet."

Ossipon, not looking at her, and with a face
like a fresh plaster cast of himself after a wast-

THE SECRET AGENT 417

ing illness, said : " By-the-by, I ought to have
the money for the tickets now.''

Mrs Verloc, undoing some hooks of her
bodice, while she went on staring ahead be-
yond the splashboard, handed over to him the
new pigskin pocket-book. He received it with-
out a word, and seemed to plunge it deep some-
where into his very breast Then he slapped
his coat on the outside.

All this was done without the exchange of a
single glance ; they were like two people look-
ing out for the first sight of a desired goal. It
was not till the hansom swung round a corner
and towards the bridge that Ossipon opened
his lips again.

"Do you know how much money there is in that
thing ? " he asked, as if addressing slowly some
hobgoblin sitting between the ears of the horse.

" No," said Mrs Verloc. "He gave it to
me. I didn't count. I thought nothing of it
at the time. Afterwards "

She moved her right hand a little. It was
so expressive that little movement of that right
hand which had struck the deadly blow into a
man's heart less than an hour before that Os-
sipon could not repress a shudder. He exag-
gerated it then purposely, and muttered :

" I am cold. I got chilled through."

2D

418 THE SECRET AGENT

Mrs Verloc looked straight ahead at the per-
spective of her escape. Now and then, like a
sable streamer blown across a road, the words
" The drop given was fourteen feet " got in the
way of her tense stare. Through her black veil
the whites of her big eyes gleamed lustrously
like the eyes of a masked woman.

Ossipon's rigidity had something business-
like, a queer official expression. He was heard
again all of a sudden, as though he had released
a catch in order to speak.

" Look here ! Do you know whether your
whether he kept his account at the bank
in his own name or in some other name."

Mrs Verloc turned upon him her masked
face and the big white gleam of her eyes.

" Other name ? " she said thoughtfully.

" Be exact in what you say," Ossipon lectured
in the swift motion of the hansom. " It's ex-
tremely important. I will explain to you. The
bank has the numbers of these notes. If they
were paid to him in his own name, then when
his his death becomes known, the notes may
serve to track us since we have no other money.
You have no other money on you ? "

She shook her head negatively.

" None whatever ? " he insisted

"A few coppers/'

THE SECRET AGENT 419

14 It would be dangerous in that case. The
money would have then to be dealt specially
with. Very specially. We'd have perhaps
to lose more than half the amount in order
to get these notes changed in a certain safe
place I know of in Paris. In the other case
I mean if he had his account and got paid out
under some other name say Smith, for instance
the money is perfectly safe to use. You
understand ? The bank has no means of
knowing that Mr Verloc and, say, Smith are
one and the same person. Do you see how
important it is that you should make no mistake
in answering me ? Can you answer that query
at all? Perhaps not. Eh?"

She said composedly :

44 1 remember now ! He didn't bank in his
own name. He told me once that it was on
deposit in the name of Prozor."

44 You are sure ? "

"Certain."

" You don't think the bank had any know-
ledge of his real name ? Or anybody in the
bank or "

She shrugged her shoulders.

44 How can I know ? Is it likely, Tom ?"

44 No. I suppose it's not likely. It would
have been more comfortable to know. . . , Here

420 THE SECRET AGENT

we are. Get out first, and walk straight in.
Move smartly."

He remained behind, and paid the cabman
out of his own loose silver. The programme
traced by his minute foresight was carried out.
When Mrs Verloc, with her ticket for St Malo
in her hand, entered the ladies' waiting-room,
Comrade Ossipon walked into the bar, and in
seven minutes absorbed three goes of hot
brandy and water.

" Trying to drive out a cold/' he explained to
the barmaid, with a friendly nod and a grimacing
smile. Then he came out, bringing out from
that festive interlude the face of a man who had
drunk at the very Fountain of Sorrow. He raised
his eyes to the clock. It was time. He waited.

Punctual, Mrs Verloc came out, with her veil
down, and all black black as commonplace
death itself, crowned with a few cheap and pale
flowers. She passed close to a little group of
men who were laughing, but whose laughter
could have been struck dead by a single word.
Her walk was indolent, but her back was
straight, and Comrade Ossipon looked after
it in terror before making a start himself.

The train was drawn up, with hardly anybody
about its row of open doors. Owing to the time
of the year and to the abominable weather there

THE SECRET AGENT 421

were hardly any passengers. Mrs Verloc walked
slowly along the line of empty compartments
till Ossipon touched her elbow from behind.

" In here."

She got in, and he remained on the platform
looking about. She bent forward, and in a
whisper :

"What is it, Tom ? Is there any danger ?"

"Wait a moment. There's the guard."

She saw him accost the man in uniform. They
talked for a while. She heard the guard say
"Very well, sir," and saw him touch his cap.
Then Ossipon came back, saying: "I told him not
to let anybody get into our compartment"

She was leaning forward on her seat. " You
think of everything. . . . You'll get me off,
Tom ? " she asked in a gust of anguish, lifting
her veil brusquely to look at her saviour.

She had uncovered a face like adamant.
And out of this face the eyes looked on, big,
dry, enlarged, lightless, burnt out like two black
holes in the white, shining globes.

" There is no danger," he said, gazing into
them with an earnestness almost rapt, which to
Mrs Verloc, flying from the gallows, seemed to
be full of force and tenderness. This devotion
deeply moved her and the adamantine face lost
the stern rigidity of its terror. Comrade Ossi-

422 THE SECRET AGENT

pon gazed at it as no lover ever gazed at his
mistress's face. Alexander Ossipon, anarchist,
nicknamed the Doctor, author of a medical
(and improper) pamphlet, late lecturer on the
social aspects of hygiene to working men's
clubs, was free from the trammels of conven-
tional morality but he submitted to the rule of
science. He was scientific, and he gazed
scientifically at that woman, the sister of a
degenerate, a degenerate herself of a mur-
dering type. He gazed at her, and invoked
Lombroso, as an Italian peasant recommends
himself to his favourite saint He gazed
scientifically. He gazed at her cheeks, at her
nose, at her eyes, at her ears. , . . Bad! . . . Fatal!
Mrs Verloc's pale lips parting, slightly relaxed
under his passionately attentive gaze, he gazed
also at her teeth. . , . Not a doubt remained . . .
a murdering type. ... If Comrade Ossipon did
not recommend his terrified soul to Lombroso, it
was only because on scientific grounds he could
not believe that he carried about him such a thing
as a soul. But he had in him the scientific spirit,
which moved him to testify on the platform of a
railway station in nervous jerky phrases.

" He was an extraordinary lad, that brother
of yours. Most interesting to study. A
perfect type in a way. Perfect ! "

THE SECRET AGENT 423

He spoke scientifically in his secret fear. And
Mrs Verloc, hearing these words of commenda-
tion vouchsafed to her beloved dead, swayed for-
ward with a flicker of light in her sombre eyes,
like a ray of sunshine heralding a tempest of rain.

" He was that indeed," she whispered softly,
with quivering lips. "You took a lot of notice
of him, Tom. I loved you for it."

" It's almost incredible the resemblance there
was between you two," pursued Ossipon, giving
a voice to his abiding dread, and trying to
conceal his nervous, sickening impatience for
the train to start. "Yes; he resembled you."

These words were not especially touching or
sympathetic. But the fact of that resemblance
insisted upon was enough in itself to act upon
her emotions powerfully. With a little faint
cry, and throwing her arms out, Mrs Verloc
burst into tears at last.

Ossipon entered the carriage, hastily closed
the door and looked out to see the time by the
station clock. Eight minutes more. For the
first three of these Mrs Verloc wept violently
and helplessly without pause or interruption.
Then she recovered somewhat, and sobbed
gently in an abundant fall of tears. She tried
to talk to her saviour, to the man who was the
messenger of life.

424 THE SECRET AGENT

"Oh, Tom! How could I fear to die after
he was taken away from me so cruelly ! How
could I ! How could I be such a coward ! "

She lamented aloud her love of life, that life
without grace or charm, and almost without
decency, but of an exalted faithfulness of pur-
pose, even unto murder. And, as often happens
in the lament of poor humanity, rich in suffering
but indigent in words, the truth the very cry
of truth was found in a worn and artificial shape
picked up somewhere among the phrases of
sham sentiment

" How could I be so afraid of death ! Tom,
I tried. But I am afraid. I tried to do away
with myself. And I couldn't. Am I hard ? I
suppose the cup of horrors was not full enough
for such as me. Then when you came. ..."

She paused. Then in a gust of confidence
and gratitude, "I will live all my days for you,
Tom ! " she sobbed out.

"Go over into the other corner of the carriage,
away from the platform," said Ossipon solicit-
ously. She let her saviour settle hercomfortahly,
and he watched the coming on of another crisis
of weeping, still more violent than the first. He
watched the symptoms with a sort of medical air,
as if counting seconds. He heard the guard's
whistle at last. An involuntary contraction of

THE SECRET AGENT 425

the upper lip bared his teeth with all the aspect
of savage resolution as he felt the train begin-
ning to move. Mrs Verloc heard and felt nothing,
and Ossipon, her saviour, stood still. He felt
the train roll quicker, rumbling heavily to the
sound of the woman's loud sobs, and then cros-
sing the carriage in two long strides he opened
the door deliberately, and leaped out.

He had leaped out at the very end of the plat-
form ; and such was his determination in stick-
ing to his desperate plan that he managed by a
sort of miracle, performed almost in the air, to
slam to the door of the carriage. Only then
did he find himself rolling head over heels like
a shot rabbit. He was bruised, shaken, pale as
death, and out of breath when he got up. But he
was calm, and perfectly able to meet the excited
crowd of railway men who had gathered round
him in a moment. He explained, in gentle and
convincing tones, that his wife had started at a
moment's notice for Brittany to her dying
mother ; that, of course, she was greatly up-set,
and he considerably concerned at her state; that
he was trying to cheer her up, and had absolutely
failed to notice at first that the train was moving
out. To the general exclamation " Why didn't
you go on to Southampton, then, sir?" he ob-
jected the inexperience of a young sister-in-law

426 THE SECRET AGENT

left alone in the house with three small children,
and her alarm at his absence, the telegraph
offices being closed. He had acted on impulse.
" But I don't think I'll ever try that again," he
concluded ; smiled all round ; distributed some
small change, and marched without a limp out
of the station.

Outside, Comrade Ossipon, flush of safe
banknotes as never before in his life, refused
the offer of a cab.

" I can walk," he said, with a little friendly
laugh to the* civil driver.

He could walk. He walked. He crossed the
bridge. Later on the towers of the Abbey saw
in their massive immobility the yellow bush of
his hair passing under the lamps. The lights
of Victoria saw him too, and Sloane Square, and
the railings of the park. And Comrade Ossipon
once more found himself on a bridge. The river,
a sinister marvel of still shadows and flowing
gleams mingling below in a black silence, arrested
his attention. He stood looking over the para-
pet for a long time. The clock tower boomed
a brazen blast above his drooping head. He
looked up at the dial. . . . Half-past twelve of a
wild night in the Channel.

And again Comrade Ossipon walked. His
robust form was seen that night in distant parts

THE SECRET AGENT 427

of the enormous town slumbering monstrously
on a carpet of mud under a veil of raw mist
It was seen crossing the streets without life and
sound, or diminishing in the interminable straight
perspectives of shadowy houses bordering empty
roadways lined by strings of gas lamps. He
walked through Squares, Places, Ovals, Com-
mons, through monotonous streets with unknown
names where the dust of humanity settles inert
and hopeless out of the stream of life. He
walked And suddenly turning into a strip of
a front garden with a mangy grass plot, he let
himself into a small grimy house with a latch-
key he took out of his pocket.

He threw himself down on his bed all dressed,
and lay still for a whole quarter of an hour.
Then he sat up suddenly, drawing up his knees,
and clasping his legs. The first dawn found
him open-eyed, in that same posture. This man
who could walk so long, so far, so aimlessly, with-
out showing a sign of fatigue, could also remain
sitting still for hours without stirring a limb or
an eyelid. But when the late sun sent its rays
into the room he unclasped his hands, and fell
back on the pillow. His eyes stared at the
ceiling. And suddenly they closed. Comrade
Ossipon slept in the sunlight.

XIII

* I V HE enormous iron padlock on the doors
"* of the wall cupboard was the only object
in the room on which the eye could rest without
becoming afflicted by the miserable unloveliness
of forms and the poverty of material. Unsale-
able in the ordinary course of business on
account of .its noble proportions, it had been
ceded to the Professor for a few pence by
a marine dealer in the east of London. The
room was large, clean, respectable, and poor
with that poverty suggesting the starvation of
every human need except mere bread. There
was nothing on the walls but the paper, an
expanse of arsenical green, soiled with indelible
smudges here and there, and with stains re-
sembling faded maps of uninhabited continents.
At a deal table near a window sat Comrade
Ossipon, holding his head between his fists.
The Professor, dressed in his only suit of shoddy
tweeds, but flapping to and fro on the bare
boards a pair of incredibly dilapidated slippers,
had thrust his hands deep into the over-
strained pockets of his jacket. He was re-

428

THE SECRET AGENT 429

lating to his robust guest a visit he had lately
been paying to the Apostle Michaelis. The Per-
fect Anarchist had even been unbending a little.

" The fellow didn't know anything of Verloc's
death. Of course ! He never looks at the news-
papers. They make him too sad, he says. But
never mind I walked into his cottage. Not a
soul anywhere. I had to shout half-a-dozen
times before he answered me. I thought he
was fast asleep yet, in bed But not at all.
He had been writing his book for four hours
already. He sat in that tiny cage in a litter of
manuscript. There was a half-eaten raw carrot
on the table near him. His breakfast. He
lives on a diet of raw carrots and a little milk
now."

" How does he look on it ? " asked Comrade
Ossipon listlessly.

" Angelic. ... I picked up a handful of his
pages from the floor. The poverty of reasoning
is astonishing. He has no logic. He can't
think consecutively. But that's nothing. He
has divided his biography into three parts,
entitled ' Faith, Hope, Charity/ He is elabo-
rating now the idea of a world planned out like
an immense and nice hospital, with gardens and
flowers, in which the strong are to devote them-
selves to the nursing of the weak."

480 THE SECRET AGENT

The Professor paused.

" Conceive you this folly, Ossipon ? The
weak! The source of all evil on this earth!"
he continued with his grim assurance. " I told
him that I dreamt of a world like shambles,
where the weak would be taken in hand for
utter extermination.

" Do you understand, Ossipon ? The source
of all evil ! They are our sinister masters the
weak, the flabby, the silly, the cowardly, the
faint of heart, and the slavish of mind. They
have power. They are the multitude. Theirs
is the kingdom of the earth. Exterminate, ex-
terminate ! That is the only way of progress.
It is ! Follow me, Ossipon. First the great
multitude of the weak must go, then the only
relatively strong. You see ? First the blind,
then the deaf and the dumb, then the halt and
the la^me and so on. Every taint, every vice,
every prejudice, every convention must meet its
doom."

"And what remains ?' ? asked Ossipon in a
stifled voice.

" I remain if I am strong enough," asserted
the sallow little Professor, whose large ears, thin
like membranes, and standing far out from the
sides of his frail skull, took on suddenly a deep
red tint

THE SECRET AGENT 481

11 Haven't I suffered enough from this oppres-
sion of the weak ? " he continued forcibly. Then
tapping the breast-pocket of his jacket : " And
yet / am the force/ 1 he went on. " But the
time ! The time ! Give me time ! Ah ! that
multitude, too stupid to feel either pity or
fear. Sometimes I think they have everything
on their side. Everything even death my
own weapon."

" Come and drink some beer with me at the
Silenus," said the robust Ossipon after an
interval of silence pervaded by the rapid flap,
flap of the slippers on the feet of the Perfect
Anarchist. This last accepted. He was jovial
that day in his own peculiar way. He slapped
Ossipon's shoulder.

" Beer ! So be it ! Let us drink and be
merry, for we are strong, and to-morrow
we die."

He busied himself with putting on his boots,
and talked meanwhile in his curt, resolute tones.

" What's the matter with you, Ossipon ? You
look glum and seek even my company. I hear
that you are seen constantly in places where
men utter foolish things over glasses of liquor.
Why? Have you abandoned your collection
of women ? They are the weak who feed the
strong eh ? "

432 THE SECRET AGENT

He stamped one foot, and picked up his
other laced boot, heavy, thick-soled, unblacked,
mended many times. He smiled to himself
grimly.

"Tell me, Ossipon, terrible man, has ever
one of your victims killed herself for you or
are your triumphs so far incomplete for blood
alone puts a seal on greatness ? Blood Death.
Look at history."

"You be damned/' said Ossipon, without
turning his head.

"Why ? Let that be the hope of the weak,
whose theology has invented hell for the
strong. Ossipon, my feeling for you is amic-
able contempt. You couldn't kill a fly."

But rolling to the feast on the top of the om-
nibus the Professor lost his high spirits. The
contemplation of the multitudes thronging the
pavements extinguished his assurance under a
load of doubt and uneasiness which he could
only shake off after a period of seclusion in the
room with the large cupboard closed by an enor-
mous padlock.

"And so," said over his shoulder Comrade
Ossipon, who sat on the seat behind. " And
so Michaelis dreams of a world like a beautiful
and cheery hospital."

"Just so. An immense charity for the

THE SECRET AGENT 433

healing of the weak," assented the Professor
sardonically.

" That's silly," admitted Ossipon. "You
can't heal weakness. But after all Michaelis
may not be so far wrong. In two hundred
years doctors will rule the world. Science
reigns already. It reigns in the shade maybe
but it reigns. And all science must culminate
at last in the science of healing not the weak,
but the strong. Mankind wants to live to live/

" Mankind," asserted the Professor with a self-
confident glitter of his iron-rimmed spectacles,
"does not know what it wants."

" But you do," growled Ossipon. " Just now
youVe been crying for time time. Well'
The doctors will serve you out your time if
you are good You profess yourself to be one
of the strong because you carry in your pocket
enough stuff to send yourself and, say, twenty
other people into eternity. But eternity is a
damned hole. It's time that you need. You
if you met a man who could give you for certain
ten years of time, you would call him your
master."

" My device is : No God ! No master," said
the Professor sententiously as he rose to get
off the 'bus.

Ossipon followed. "Wait till you are lying

2

434 THE SECRET AGENT

flat on your back at the end of your time," he
retorted, jumping off the footboard after the
other. " Your scurvy, shabby, mangy little bit
of time," he continued across the street, and
hopping on to the curbstone.

"Ossipon, I think that you are a humbug,"
the Professor said, opening masterfully the doors
of the renowned Silenus. And when they had
established themselves at a little table he de-
veloped further this gracious thought. "You are
not even a doctor. But you are funny. Your
notion of a humanity universally putting out
the tongue and taking the pill from pole to pole
at the bidding of a few solemn jokers is worthy
of the prophet. Prophecy ! What's the good
of thinking of what will be!" He raised his
glass. " To the destruction of what is," he said
calmly.

He drank and relapsed into his peculiarly
close manner of silence. The thought of a
mankind as numerous as the sands of the sea-
shore, as indestructible, as difficult to handle,
oppressed him. The sound of exploding bombs
was lost in their immensity of passive grains
without an echo. For instance, this Verloc
affair. Who thought of it now ?

Ossipon, as if suddenly compelled by some
mysterious force, pulled a much-folded news-

THE SECRET AGENT 485

paper out of his pocket. The Professor raised
his head at the rustle.

"What's that paper? Anything in it? 11 he
asked.

Ossipon started like a scared somnambulist.

" Nothing. Nothing whatever. The thing's
ten days old. I forgot it in my pocket, I
suppose."

But he did not throw the old thing away.
Before returning it to his pocket he stole a
glance at the last lines of a paragraph. They
ran thus: "An impenetrable mystery seems
destined to hang for ever over this act of mad-
ness or despair!*

Such were the end words of an item of news
headed : " Suicide of Lady Passenger from a
cross -Channel Boat." Comrade Ossipon was
familiar with the beauties of its journalistic
style. "An impenetrable mystery seems des-
tined to hang for ever. . . ." He knew every
word by heart. "An impenetrable mystery. . . ."
And the robust anarchist, hanging his head on
his breast, fell into a long reverie.

He was menaced by this thing in the very
sources of his existence. He could not issue forth
to meet his various conquests, those that he
courted on benches in Kensington Gardens, and
those he met near area railings, without the

430 THE SECRET AGENT

dread of beginning to talk to them of an
impenetrable mystery destined . . . He was
becoming scientifically afraid of insanity lying
in wait for him amongst these lines. " To
hang for ever over'' It was an obsession, a
torture. He had lately failed to keep several
of these appointments, whose note used to be an
unbounded trustfulness in the language of senti-
ment and manly tenderness. The confiding
disposition of various classes of women satisfied
the needs of his self-love, and put some material
means into*his hand. He needed it to live. It
was there. But if he could no longer make use
of it, he ran the risk of starving his ideals and
his body . . . " This act of madness or despair."

"An impenetrable mystery" was sure "to
hang for ever " as far as all mankind was con-
cerned. But what of that if he alone of all men
could never get rid of the cursed knowledge ?
And Comrade Ossipon's knowledge was as pre-
c : se as the newspaper man could make it up
to the very threshold of the " mystery destined
to hang for ever. . . ."

Comrade Ossipon was well informed. He
knew what the gangway man of the steamer had
seen : " A lady in a black dress and a black veil,
wandering at midnight alongside, on the quay.
'Are you going by the boat, ma'am/ he had

THE SECRET AGENT 437

asked her encouragingly. 'This way/ She
seemed not to know what to do. He helped
her on board. She seemed weak."

And he knew also what the stewardess had
seen : A lady in black with a white face stand-
ing in the middle of the empty ladies 1 cabin.
The stewardess induced her to lie down there.
The lady seemed quite unwilling to speak, and as
if she were in some awful trouble. The next the
stewardess knew she was gone from the ladies'
cabin. The stewardess then went on deck to
look for her, and Comrade Ossipon was informed
that the good woman found the unhappy lady
lying down in one of the hooded seats. Her
eyes were open, but she would not answer any-
thing that was said to her. She seemed very
ill. The stewardess fetched the chief steward,
and those two people stood by the side of
the hooded seat consulting over their extra-
ordinary and tragic passenger. They talked
in audible whispers (for she seemed past hear-
ing) of St Malo and the Consul there, of
communicating with her people in England.
Then they went away to arrange for her re-
moval clown below, for indeed by what they
could see of her face she seemed to them to be
dying. But Comrade Ossipon knew that be-
hind that white mask of despair there was

488 THE SECRET AGENT

against terror and despair a vigour
of vitality, a love of life that could resist the
furious anguish which drives to murder and the
fear, the blind, mad fear of the gallows. He
knew. But the stewardess and the chief steward
knew nothing, except that when they came back
for her in less than five minutes the lady in
black was no longer in the hooded seat. She
was nowhere. She was gone. It was then five
o'clock in the morning, and it was no accident
either. An hour afterwards one of the steamer's
hands found a wedding ring left lying on the seat.
It had stuck to the wood in a bit of wet, and its
glitter caught the man's eye. There was a date,
24th June 1879, engraved inside. "An impene-
trable mystery is destined to hang for ever. ..."

And Comrade Ossipon raised his bowed
head, beloved of various humble women of these
isles, Apollo-like in the sunniness of its bush
of hair.

The Professor had grown restless meantime.
He rose.

"Stay," said Ossipon hurriedly. "Here,
what do you know of madness and despair ? "

The Professor passed the tip of his tongue on
his dry, thin lips, and said doctorally :

"There are no such things. All passion is
lost now. The world is mediocre, limp, without

THE SECRET AGENT 489

force. And madness and despair are a force.
And force is a crime in the eyes of the fools, the
weak and the silly who rule the roost You are
mediocre. Verloc, whose affair the police has
managed to smother so nicely, was mediocre.
And the police murdered him. He was
mediocre. Everybody is mediocre. Madness
and despair ! Give me that for a lever, and I'll
move the world. Ossipon, you have my cordial
scorn. You are incapable of conceiving even
what the fat-fed citizen would call a crime. You
have no force." He paused, smiling sardonically
under the fierce glitter of his thick glasses.

" And let me tell you that this little legacy
they say you've come into has not improved
your intelligence. You sit at your beer like a
dummy. Good-bye/'

"Will you have it ? " said Ossipon, looking up
with an idiotic grin.

" Have what ? "

"The legacy. All of it."

The incorruptible Professor only smiled. His
clothes were all but falling off him, his boots,
shapeless with repairs, heavy like lead, let water
in at every step. He said :

" I will send you by-and-by a small bill for
certain chemicals which I shall order to-morrow.
I need them badly. Understood eh ? "

440 THE SECRET AGENT

Ossipon lowered his head slowly. He was
alone. "An impenetrable mystery. . . ." It
seemed to him that suspended in the air before
him he saw his own brain pulsating to the rhythm
of an impenetrable mystery. It was diseased
clearly. . . . " This act of madness or despair"

The mechanical piano near the door played
through a valse cheekily, then fell silent all at
once, as if gone grumpy.

Comrade Ossipon, nicknamed the Doctor,
went out of the Silenus beer-hall. At the door
he hesitated; blinking at a not too splendid sun-
light and the paper with the report of the
suicide of a lady was in his pocket. His heart
was beating against it. The suicide of a lady
this act of madness or despair.

He walked along the street without looking
where he put his feet; and he walked in a
direction which would not bring him to the place
of appointment with another lady (an elderly
nursery governess putting her trust in an
Apollo-like ambrosial head). He was walking
away from it. He could lace no woman. It
was ruin. He could neither think, work, sleep,
nor eat. But he was beginning to drink with
pleasure, with anticipation, with hope. It was
ruin. His revolutionary career, sustained by
the sentiment and trustfulness of many women,

THE SECRET AGENT 441

was menaced by an impenetrable mystery the
mystery of a human brain pulsating wrong-
fully to the rhythm of journalistic phrases.
". . . Will hang for ever over this act. ... It
was inclining towards the gutter. . . of madness
or despair. . . ."

" I am seriously ill," he muttered to himself
with scientific insight Already his robust form,
with an Embassy's secret-service money (in-
herited from Mr Verloc) in his pockets, was
marching in the gutter as if in training for the
task of an inevitable future. Already he bowed
his broad shoulders, his head of ambrosial locks,
as if ready to receive the leather yoke of the
sandwich board. As on that night, more than
a week ago, Comrade Ossipon walked without
looking where he put his feet, feeling no fatigue,
feeling nothing, seeing nothing, hearing not a
sound. " An impenetrable mystery. . . ." He
walked disregarded. . . . " This act of madness
or despair"

And the incorruptible Professor walked too,
averting his eyes from the odious multitude of
mankind. He had no future. He disdained it.
He was a force. His thoughts caressed the
images of ruin and destruction. He walked
frail, insignificant, shabby, miserable and
terrible in the simplicity of his idea calling

442 THE SECRET AGENT

madness and despair to the regeneration of the
world. Nobody looked at him. He passed
on unsuspected and deadly, like a pest in the
street full of men.

January- October , 1906.